


A Change of Heart

by Captainhellarad



Category: Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - All Media Types, Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 25,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainhellarad/pseuds/Captainhellarad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman curses Minister of Justice, Claude Frollo, and he gets thrown forward in time, landing himself in the apartment of a young woman. Will this sudden shifting of his world make him soft-hearted, or will he never learn from the opportunity he's been given? Frollo/OC with implied Fresme. Rating will go up in future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Judge Frollo patrolled the dark streets of Paris upon his horse, his eyes constantly moving, in search of any gypsies that could be trying to cause more trouble. He never liked the gypsies, believing they had brought the Plague with them, spreading fear and stealing, tempting the baser desires of man with their witchcraft and dancing.

Oh, how he hated their dancing.

As he pondered the most recent Feast of Fools-  _ curse that blasted gypsy witch- _ he noticed the end of a cloak retreating in a dark alley. He looked around quickly for his soldiers, ready to order them to chase the offending person down, but found none. He clenched his jaw in exasperation, kicking his horse so as to make this chase a swift one.

Frollo rounded the corner, swiftly coming upon the cloaked person. He moved Snowball in front of them, making the offender unable to make harsh contact with the large horse, and held the tip of his sword to them. HE dismounted, keeping his eyes on the mysterious person.

“Lower your hood,” he commanded. “Or else I shall throw you into the dungeons for the rest of your miserable life.”

“See there, hate in this man’s heart,” an old womanly voice said.Frollo raised his sword higher, the tip touching just below her chin.

“Silence,” he snapped.

“Most men believe from which he will never depart,” she continued. Frollo saw her arms shuffle beneath her cloak, which made him press the sword harder upon her throat, just barely breaking the skin.

“Silence, I say! And remove your hood!”

“I cast this man from this time, so he may see how this world shines!” The old woman threw a dark powder in Frollo’s face, making him step back and cover himself, but it was too late. When he was done coughing and rubbing his face, the woman was gone. He looked around swiftly, and started to run back toward the city, but he started to feel faint as he moved forward. He tried to beckon is horse, but no sound would come out. He started to see black fade in on the edge of his vision and he fell onto his back. He was helpless as darkness consumed him completely.

\-----

“I swear to God, if you don’t get your ass up and out of my apartment, I will fucking kill you.”

Frollo started to become aware of himself, his body feeling heavy and immovable, like it was made of lead. He groaned, putting a hand to his face as he tried to sit up.

“Oh now you decide to finally wake up.” It sounded like a young woman’s voice. A very displeased woman’s voice.  Frollo sat up fully and opened his eyes. He was met with the site of a large looking knife being pointed at his face. He looked up the handle of the knife, following the slender hands and arms to a thin pair of shoulder and a slim neck, which led to a young woman’s face, which was full of fear and anger. What struck him the most were the eyes. Her eyes were the deepest shade of blue he had ever seen.

“Who are you?” she shakily demanded, the knife shaking in her hands. Frollo didn’t answer, instead he was focused on her clothing. She wore a blouse with what seemed to be no sleeves. She wore trousers made of a blue material, which were littered with holes and tears.

“Hello?! Earth to intruder!” she said, her voice raising and said, “Put the knife down you silly girl. I’m Judge Claude Frollo, Minister of Justice in Paris.”

“You fell pretty hard if you think we’re still in Paris buddy,” the woman said, still brandishing the knife at him. “You’re in the United States.”

“The United what?” Frollo asked, rubbing his forehead, trying to relieve himself of the oncoming headache. “I’ve never heard of it. And why do you wear such revealing clothing? Have you lost all sense of decency?”

“Jesus Christ, man. What year do you think we’re in?”

“The year of our Lord, 1482,” he answered confidently.

“Man, you really are stupid. It’s way past that year, buddy,” she said, her knife lowering a bit. “Y0ou could just be playing dumb.” She raised the knife up, more confident in her stance.

“Then enlighten me, girl,” Frollo demanded haughtily. “What year is it then?”

“It’s 2015,” she replied. She moved to the window and threw back the curtains with her free hand, still pointing the knife at him. Past her window, cars flew by and people walked on the sidewalks below.  She turned her face back to the judge, and whatever color he had left was gone.

“Oh Maria,” he gasped, his eyes filled with horror. “Where am I?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” the woman asked, suddenly looking concerned for him.  

“I-“ he started to speak, but his thoughts were buzzing around too much that he felt he couldn’t express how terrified he was. “Help me,” was all he managed to get out, before he fainted.


	2. Chapter 2

Shaking. Something was shaking him. Pulling on his robes and trying to lift him.

“Come on,” he heard faintly. “Let’s at least get you off the floor.” Frollo held back a groan. Who was trying to lift him? Was it one of his servants?

“Come on C-Claude? Oh what’s his stupid name?”

The girl! His morning encounter flooded his mind quickly, making his head swim. He started to sit up again, feeling her hands supporting his back from behind.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, noticing that her weapon of choice was nowhere to be found. He met her gaze evenly, seeing her eyes filled with concern and trepidation. Frollo was startled at himself finding this strange girl somewhat pretty.

“I’m fine you insolent girl,” he said harshly, a twinge of guilt went through him at the sight of her hurt features. He shook himself mentally and began to stand, only to be stopped short by the woman.

“Easy there, man. You’ve been in an out of consciousness for a while now,” she explained, her hands hovering around him. She motioned to a cushioned chair behind him, and he sat down gratefully, his back muscles crying out in relief.

“Now,” she said, standing in front of him, her arms crossed. “You say you’re from the 15th century-“

“And you say it’s now much farther than my time,” he interrupted. He was shot a glare from her blue eyes and he took the hint.

“It is!” she argued. “If you’re from France, why is it you speak perfect English?” she asked haughtily.

It was a test of his authenticity, but truth be told, he had no idea. He spoke how he normally did, in French. He shook his head. “I have no idea,” he explained. “May I ask you how you found me here?” He raised a brow, trying to keep his emotions at bay, for the sake of not scaring the girl. She seemed to be trying to figure this peculiar situation out as much as he was, and he was grateful for the help.

She nodded, hesitantly taking a step back from him towards the adjoining chair, where she sat, keeping her eyes on his. “I came downstairs, and you were just lying on my floor. I was scared initially, which is why I grabbed my knife, but after closer inspection, there was no sign of forced entry or anything. You just seemed to appear out of thin air. I don’t know how. I tried waking you, and of course, I still don’t trust you, nor do I fully believe you, but you wouldn’t wake for a while. When you came to, well, you know…” she trailed off.

Frollo paid close attention to her words, nodding and making noises of acknowledgement. “This is strange,” he said. He then went on to explain the events that happened to him prior to waking up in this girl’s home.

“So you don’t like gypsies?” she questioned.  
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That was not the point of him explaining what had happened with the old woman. He raised a brow, looking at her with no emotion behind his eyes. “I do not care for them. They tempt the baser desires of sin, and most men fail the tests which are thrust before them.” At his words, he tried not to picture the dancing gypsy’s hips.

“You know, the word gypsy hasn’t been used in a long time,” she said. “But with your prejudice ways, you’re going to have a hard time adjusting here.”

“So you believe me?” he asked, hope lacing his voice. He knew he wouldn’t last out there, in what looked to be a very confusing world.

She shook her head slowly, looking to the side, as she said, “Not quite. You don’t seem to be lying; your body language and eyes give that away clearly.” Frollo felt invaded a bit at her statement.

“But I don’t understand why the old woman would do that. We don’t even know if she was Romani to begin with,” she went on to explain, surprising Frollo. She was right. He had no idea.

“She had to be,” he argued, his hands clutching the arms of the chair tightly. “She cursed me here. Her dark magic sending me to this vile place.”

“I resent that,” the woman said, annoyed. “I worked hard on this apartment.”

“That’s beside the point,” Frollo said, waving his hand in dismissal. He looked at her, inspecting her more closely. Her dark red hair was pulled back, her bangs framing her slim, pale face. She held herself with an air of confidence he knew she didn’t have. Though her clothing was strange, and revealing, it complemented her. He contemplated his predicament, and resigned himself to asking her for her help once again.

“How can I prove to you that I’m telling the truth?” he asked.

“Oh that will be explained soon enough,” she said. A loud, two toned noise rang throughout the room, startling him. He watched with wide eyes as the woman walked to a door, and a dark skinned man stepped through. Before Frollo could say anything he heard the man greet the woman kindly and kiss her on the cheek.

The dark man’s eyes landed on the minister. “And who is this grey fox?” the man asked. Frollo didn’t know how to feel. Anger at being addressed by someone lower than him in such a manner, or the fact that a black man was very familiar with a white woman? The woman laughed, the sound of it shaking Frollo to his very core.

“This is Judge Claude Frollo, Jean. From Paris, France,” she explained, gesturing to the stunned man in question. “He claims he’s from 1480- something.”

“Eighty-two,” he corrected softly.

“I believe he might be telling the truth,” she said, her eyes on him carefully.

“If you of all people think that, then it must be true,” the dark man said sarcastically.

“Look Jean,” she said. Frollo couldn’t hide his emotions. All of this was too much to handle in such a short time.

“Oh shit,” he heard. “I think you may be right. Christy, what do you think we should do?”

Before she could answer, Frollo stood up quickly. “Please,” he said, his voice laced with desperation. “Help me. I can prove I’m telling the truth. I can’t survive out there.” He pointed to the window, the curtains already closed over it. “Teach me. Tell me why a black man can be friends with a white woman. What’s changed in the last six hundred years?” Christy’s and Jean’s eyes were wide at his statement.

His heart was hammering in his chest, praying to God that at least she would help him. 

He nearly cried in relief when she nodded her consent, saying, “You better not be lying.”


	3. Chapter 3

Christy and Jean had moved to a different room to talk, leaving Claude to himself. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

_ Six hundred years.  _ He thought.  _ Why would the witch choose such a long time?  _ He stood up, walking over to the window, almost too afraid to pull back the cream colored curtains. Instead he focused on the room surrounding him. 

Her “apartment”,  _ Whatever that is, _ he thought, was quaint and homelike. The room he currently occupied, which seemed to be some sort of common area, had light blue walls and white baseboards.  _ An innocent color scheme,  _ he thought, his eyes roaming over the room with a sort of curiosity, though his face did not reveal it. 

There were two cushioned chairs, the one on his left was closest to the window, sort of pushed together, though there was some considerable amount of space between them. To the right of the second chair, he saw what looked to be a long seat, also cushioned. Her furniture matched the color of the curtains.

One thing that caught his eye was the large, black,slim box in front of him, which was placed so anyone who sat on the furniture could clearly see it. It was somehow attached to the wall. Upon closer inspection, he noticed it was no thicker than the width of his hand, and almost the same length as one of his arms. He noticed little bumps on one of side of the box, and reached out to touch it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He turned and saw Christy standing in the adjoining walkway, which led to the rest of the house. She was smirking at him, her blue eyes shining with laughter. 

Frollo decided to not focus on her eyes and turned back to the black box, pointing at it. “What is this?”

“A television,” she replied. “Thought turning it on will probably cause you to have a mental break down. And we just got you back to the world of the living.”

“I’ve been dead?!” he asked incredulously, clutching his hand to his chest as he looked at her with wide eyes. He closed them tightly, praying to God that this wasn’t heaven, or hell. HIs heart hammered loudly in his chest, and he felt like he couldn’t get in enough air. 

Suddenly, a small hand covered his, fingers barely brushing the back of his hand. He opened his eyes and saw Christy. She was so close. 

“No, you haven’t been dead,” she said gently. “I apologize for scaring you. It was a joke. I won’t do it again.”

Frollo nodded, trying not to focus on the fact that her hand was much warmer than his. He looked down at them, noticing that she was almost as pale as he was. Deciding to change the subject and clear his mind a bit, he asked “Why are you so pale?”

Christy removed her hand and motioned for him to follow her. He followed her into the next room, noticing that the floor changed from a soft, cloth like floor to harsh white tiles. He was gazing around the slightly smaller room as she started to speak.

“I work in a lab,” she said. “I don’t expect you to know what that is. But basically I don’t really get much time outside.” She started opening cabinets, pulling down plates and cups. 

“Is this the kitchen?” he asked, realizing he sounded like an idiot who knew nothing.  _ That’s because I don’t know anything of this place. _

Christy hummed her affirmation, and walked to a white box, opening the lower door. He noticed that inside the white box were foods. Immediately he realized he was hungry. He walked over to the long counter, and sat down on one of the stools, watching her as she moved about. 

“Do you like sandwiches?” she asked, using the knife that she had threatened him with, to cut the food.

“I have never had a sandwich,” he answered evenly. “Where is Jean?” he asked, noticing her friend was no where to be seen.

“He’s resting.”

“Is he not feeling well?”

“Oh, he’s fine!” she answered happily. She set a plate in front of him, along with a glass of water. “He just had a long night. Him and his partner aren’t getting along.” He noticed that her plate was much smaller than his. 

“Have you enough to eat?” he asked, ready to offer his own if needed.

“Yes. I don’t  eat much anyways,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, and taking a bite. 

Frollo looked down at his meal. He noticed bread, and in between the bread, was some kind of meat, tomato, and a yellowish slice of something. Instead of scrutinizing it, he said a small prayer over the food, took a bite, and marveled at the flavors. 

“When you’re finished, we need to talk about you for a while,” Christy said.

Frollo nodded and continued eating, his stomach sinking with foreboding, hoping he could still convince her that he was telling no lies. 

\------

“What do you do for a living?” she asked, clearing their plates and glasses. 

Frollo wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, “I’m a Minister of Justice, appointed by the King himself. I protect Paris from those who wish to corrupt her.”

“Meaning gypsies?” Christy asked, sitting across from him, he hands cupping her glass of water. Frollo was not used to the comfortableness she seemed to exude, being unfamiliar with her customs. 

“Yes,” he said, his eyes growing cold. 

“Why such hate for those different than you?”

The minister was taken aback at her words. He was never asked such a question. “You dare-”

“I do,” Christy said evenly, her face betraying her anger. “You have no power here Minister, and I’ll be damned before I let you lord over me in my home. I do not take kindly to racists. I may be one of the whitest fucking women you’ll meet, but all of my friends come from different races and backgrounds.” She took a breath, exhaling slowly, closing her eyes and seeming to gather herself. She ran a hand over her hair and opened her eyes, looking at him with such fire, though her face was calm. 

Frollo was shocked at her. No one had shown such a defiance to him, but he knew she was right. He was not in Paris, not in his own time. He calmed himself, steepling his fingers in front of his chin, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I apologize. I am not used to being questioned. As the Minister of Justice, I had a very high position of power. Those who questioned me would be punished.”

“There won’t be any punishing of the sort here,” Christy said, visibly relaxing. 

“Now if I may explain why I dislike them so much?” She nodded.

“Gypsies- or Romani if you will- brought the plague into Paris when they arrived. Killing thousands of people, including my parents. As a man of God, I do not like them for causing temptations within in the city. They’re thieves, liars and witches.”

“And you really believe that?” she asked. 

“Yes.”

She hummed in dislike. “Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.” She stood up and put her hand on Frollo’s arm, pulling him up. He acquiesced, confused about her sudden change of mood. 

“Let’s go get you some new clothes.” She glanced back him, leading him down a hallway that connected to the kitchen. “You can’t wear the same thing everyday.”

He nodded absentmindedly, looking at her as they walked. All he could focus on was that she was still holding his arm as they walked. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Why are you being so kind to me?” Frollo blurted out quickly. He was in a new room, one that had different pieces of clothing strewn about it. His arms were outstretched and Christy was holding up a thin measuring stick, made of cloth, up to his chest going across his arms. He saw her shrug.

“Why not?” she questioned back. From where he was standing, atop a small stool, he could see the top of her hard. He noticed the color of her hair was not just dark red. It was a deep, cherry oak color, some parts lighter than others. He mentally shook himself. He may have taken the oath of virtue, he could not deny that she was beautiful. His thought then wandered to the dancing gypsy. He felt humiliated at how he let her make of fool of him. He noted that he still desired her, but was pulled from his thoughts when a new voice interrupted his reverie. 

“Borrowing my clothes?”

Christy and Claude both turned to the door and saw Jan standing there, rubbing his eyes and yawning. 

“Get enough beauty sleep there, Jean?” Christy asked amusingly. Frollo noticed that she was smiling at her friend with a gentle smile. The kind of smile that was never thrown the minister’s way. 

“Not quite,” the darker man said. His hair was tousled from sleep. Frollo noticed that his hair was not thick and coarse looking like the hair of others like him. It looked smooth and fine, and it was so dark a brown, it nearly looked black.

“You don’t mind us using your clothes, right Jean?” Christy asked, holding a crisp white button down shirt to Frollo’s standing form. “You two seem to be around the same size.”

“Nah. They’re out of style this year anyways,” Jean replied. He looked at Frollo. “Just don’t ruin them. By the way, when she’s done and you’ve changed, may I take a look at your robe? I love the texture and I want to know what kind of fabric it’s made of.”

Frollo looked at the other man with hidden curiosity. “Once I am finished, I will lend it to you for those purposes, but I expect it back in the same condition I left it.”

Jean clapped his hands and smiled widely. “Oh I can’t wait!” With that, Jean spun on his heel, walking back down the hall, yelling something about a shower and a date with his garden. 

Christy was laughing quietly to herself as she finished measuring Frollo’s arms. 

“Are you together?” he asked. “Romantically?” he clarified.

Christy laughed harder and Frollo’s cheeks burned with shame and embarrassment. “Oh no,” she said. “He’s not interested in women. He likes men.”

Frollo nearly choked on the air in his lungs. Good Lord. “What?”

“Oh right. I forgot, you don’t believe in that,” she said. 

“God’s word says it is a sin for a man to lay with another man,” Frollo argued. 

“Yeah, it does. I know.” He shot her a puzzled look. If she knew, why didn’t she try to show Jean the error of his ways?

“I go to church and read the Bible. But I don’t feel it’s my place to judge someone else,” she said, She pushed his arms down back to his sides and measured his shoulders from behind him. “Does it not also say that God is the only one to pass judgement?” 

Frollo could not deny that. He didn’t say anything, silently urging her to continue. 

“In the book of John, there is a story of the woman who gets caught for adultery, and is nearly stoned. Am I correct in assuming that you are familiar with the story?” she asked.

Frollo nodded. Aware of her movements behind him. 

“Then you know that it is not our right to punish or judge those who have committed sins when we ourselves have committed sins. I don’t try to tell Jean that the way he lives his life is wrong. he gets that from plenty of people already. I don’t agree with him, but it’s not my place to judge him. Only to love him, as I am commanded i the Bible.”

Frollo was silent for a time after she spoke. Her words had truth to them, but they conflicted with everything he knew. “Kind hearts such as your do not exist in a large number in my time,” he said quietly. 

“Nor in mine,” she replied. “Now. I need you to take off your robe.” 

Frollo paled. “No.” he said, clutching his robe. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she protested.  “I can’t get the right measurements if I can’t see you.”

“I won’t. I don’t need new clothes,” he argued. He knew it was a lie. He needed to change and bathe. 

“Yes you do. You’re starting to smell foul. Now remove your robe, you have nothing to hide,” she said. 

_ You’ll change your mind soon enough, foolish girl, _ he thought. He pulled the robe over his head and threw it to the floor, leaving him in his trousers and shoes. Doing so bared the lines that crossed his back. Scars, from his father’s beatings, and from himself.  He closed his eyes and waited for her to ridicule him or make scathing remarks about them, but he heard none. Instead, he felt her measure his back, as if she didn’t see the scars marking him. He felt a swell of relief in his chest and thanked God and the girl silently. 

They spent a few more hours in the room, her measuring him top to bottom, which made him embarrassed in some places, and choosing outfits for him. They had decided that he was not a “jeans” type of man, which he had then learned what kind of fabric her own trousers were made of. They spoke of small topic things, such as hobbies and such. She liked to paint and make music. He liked to read and write. When she pointed out that he had never once called her by her name, using words such as girl to address her, he simply replied:

“I’ve not heard such a name as yours, and Jean says it with such familiarity, that I feel I do not have such a right.”

“Christine,” she said, holding up another outfit to him. “My name is Christine.”

“A very apt name, my dear,” Frollo said. He watched as she laid the outfit with the others they had chosen. All of them were very well made three piece suits, each of them a different color. 

“Now, I’m going to show you how all of the appliances in the bathroom works, and you’re going to shower,” Christine said, taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom. 

She walked him through how to use the toilet and sink, and he marveled at the running water. 

“Heaven above, this is outstanding!” he exclaimed, watching as the water ran from the faucet. She showed him to run a bath and explained that how the shower head works, telling him he can stand and wash himself instead of sitting.

“There is a bar of soap right there,” she said, pointing to it. “And shampoo is there.” He gave her a questioning look. 

“Shampoo is to wash your hair with.”

“Ah,” he replied. He felt a little flustered, standing in a considerably small room with Christine without his robe, made him feel a little naked in front of her, despite his trousers and shoes. 

She seemed to have sensed his discomfort, and moved to the door, pointing to a stack of cloths. “Towels, to dry off with when you’re done. Do not come out of the bathroom fully naked,” she said. “Cover yourself with this robe,” she held up a robe and put in on top of the toilet. “Then come back to the room you were just in and we’ll get you in some nice, clean clothes.”


	5. Chapter 5

The now clean minister stepped out of the steaming bathroom feeling the most refreshed and clean he had ever felt before in his life. He reflected on how much time must’ve passed, with most of the time being spent trying to figure out the temperature of the water and smelling all the soaps. 

He padded his way to the “clothing room,” as he had started to call it, seeing Christine leaning over his robe, which was draped carefully over one of the tables.

“Fascinating how your collar is sewn into the robe itself,” she said as soon as he crossed the threshold of the doorway. Frollo was surprised, he was certain that he barely made a noise. 

“It was tailored to my needs,” he explained. He held his dirty clothes in his right hand, his left keeping the robe closed tightly around his chest, despite the clot belt that was already tied around his waist. 

“Here,” Christine said, taking his dirty laundry and handing him a suit. “There are socks and underwear too. I’m sure you know how to use pants, and button up a shirt,” she teased. She started to walk out the room, but turned back to him, pulling the pants out of his hand and showing him how to use the metal part that was located at the crotch of the pants, calling it a zipper. She then turned and stepped out the room, closing the door behind her. 

Frollo draped the clothes on the table, next to his robe. He walked to the mirror and examined himself. 

His hair needed to be combed, but he would need to ask Christine after he got dressed. He hated how prematurely his hair grayed. Being thirty-six years old and looking like he was in his mid- fifties wasn’t pleasing. Claude knew he wasn’t attractive by any means. Thin, narrow face. Very pronounced cheekbones. Dark, somewhat small eyes. His eyebrows kept their dark color, betraying what his natural color used to be before his hair turned gray. He sneered at his reflection, turning away from the mirror. 

He picked up what Christine called underwear. It looked much nicer than what he was used to. he stretched the waistband of it, marveling at how much it could stretch. He slipped out of the robe and stepped into the underwear, feeling a little uncomfortable at how snug it fit. He turned back to his reflection, and was reminded of how thin he was. He has never been muscular by any means, growing up in a school, constantly leaning over books. But he was lean. He knew his way around a fight very well, and his robed covered up his lean frame, making him seem all skin and bones. 

He slipped the dark gray trousers on, pulling up the zipper. He then pulled the white shirt on himself and buttoned it up. He didn’t like how the cuffs were just a tad short, so he rolled them up gently. He noticed the shirt hung a little low, so he tucked it into his pants, pleased with how he looked. He slipped the socks on his feet, relishing in how warm they made his thin feet. He crossed the room and opened the door, walking down the hallway, stopping in the kitchen when he saw Christine and Jean.

“It’s no wonder women fall for men in suits,” Jean said coolly, smiling at Claude. “Definitely a silver fox, this one.”

Frollo shook off the uneasy feeling he got when Jean smiled at him and looked at Christine, who was looking at him glassy eyes. 

“You look good,” she said, clearing her throat. “Very nice.” She shot a smile at him, and Frollo’s heart nearly stopped. Jean brushed past Frollo, saying he needed to grab a comb.

“These clothes are very well made,” Frollo pointed out, straightening out his collar. Christine nodded and walked to him. She unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt.

“It’s helps you feel like you’re not suffocating, plus it makes you look very attractive,” she said, standing close to him. She reached for his arms, pulling the sleeves down and rolling them back up, though much better than how he had them. 

The minister swallowed thickly. He was not used to so much prolonged contact, especially from a woman. He looked down at her, noticing the top of her head didn’t reach more than an inch above his shoulders. 

“That’ll be a nice addition to my scrapbook,” Jean announced. Christine stepped back and swatted Jean on the arm. 

“Don’t post that anywhere,” she said, annoyed. Jean held out the comb and Claude took it gratefully, combing his hair down. “You know the rules about my pictures,” she continued. 

“Yes yes, I know. God.”

Claude held back his usual response to someone taking the Lord’s name in vain. How people spoke was clearly different than what he was used to. Christine must have noticed his discomfort, because she raised her hands and said, “I’m ready to go out for dinner. Who’s with me?”

\-----

Jean showed Claude how to tie his shoes, which felt snug and slightly uncomfortable. Christine grabbed the dark gray waistcoat, and Claude slipped it on after being told it goes over the shirt he was wearing. Jean gushed over the minster, who was feeling very uncomfortable, and Christine excused herself. 

“I gotta say, Judge, you don’t look half bad,” Jean said, leaning against the wall across from Frollo, who stood a safe distance away from the other man. “How old are you anyways?”

“I’m thirty-six years of age,” Frollo said calmly. HIs arms were folded across his chest. He missed his large robe, feeling exposed in the form fitting clothes he wore now. 

“Thirty- six?! Damn!” Frollo flinched. “Never would have guessed,” Jean said, clearly unaware of how he was making the minister feel. 

“Yes I am aware of how old I look,” Frollo said shortly. 

“No offense there, Judge, but clearly you didn’t lead a relaxing life, what with all that gray hair and such.”

Frollo sighed. “Where will we be dining tonight?” he asked Jean, quickly trying to change the subject. 

Jean opened his mouth, but Christine’s voice came out. “There’s a little deli around the corner.”

Both men looked at her and Frollo was taken aback. She wore a light blue skirt that fell just below her knees, a cream blouse and white sandals. Her was down and it fell in soft waves to her shoulders. Frollo knew her outfit wasn’t extravagant, but he could appreciate the simplicity of it. 

Jean scoffed. 

“What?” the girl protested. “You two looked so nice, I couldn’t resist dressing up a little.”

“Shall we go?” Claude said, clearing his throat. He missed his home. 

\-----

The trio made their way out of the house and onto the street,  Frollo was immediately in awe of all the lights and passing objects.  _ Cars,  _ he mentally corrected. He had never seen the night so lively. 

As they walked, Christine and Jean started teaching Frollo about general society and rules. The awestruck minister held onto every word, as if God Himself were talking to him. He couldn’t seem to get enough of it all. 

When they reached their destination, they claimed an outside table. The air was warm enough, according Christine it was nearing summer, the hottest part of the year. 

Claude noticed with surprise that he could read english like it was his native language. He shared this discovery with the other two, who agreed it was very strange. 

Frollo ordered a sandwich, which was clearly  becoming a favorite, while Christine ordered a salad. Jean ordered a burger. The judge had no idea what those words meant, but he was more focused on the city around him. 

Suddenly, a thought came to him. “I have no money,” he said, suddenly anxious.

Christine scoffed. “I’ve got you covered,” she said, smiling. “Just enjoy your time while you can. You  never know when you’ll be sent back.”

“If at all,” Jean said, shrugging. Christine promptly swatted him on the arm. 

Frollo felt a sense of sorrow. Jean was right. There was no guarantee he’d ever go back. _ Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritus Sancto, sicut era in principio, et nunc et’semper, et in seacula seaculorum. Amen.  _ He prayed as he looked at the bustling city. 

Their food arrived and they happily tucked into their meals. Frollo was given a cut off piece of Jean’s burger and the minister felt he could die happily, knowing that meat could taste so good. 

As they were eating, a group of young men approached their table. 

“So, Christine the freak has friends?”


	6. Chapter 6

“Leave us alone Matt,” Christine said, not looking at the group of men. Frollo noticed her glaring at her salad, and looked back to the boys with a nonchalant gaze. 

“Oh look, she brought her dad!” one of them exclaimed. The boys snickered and Jean scoffed loudly. 

“Got something to say, faggot?” the other one asked cruelly, bringing up his fist menacingly. 

“My dear boys,” Frollo said, his deep voice kind as he spoke. “Let us eat in please, if you don’t mind. I was enjoying my night quite happily, and would like to resume doing so.” As he spoke, his eyes became cold. He was very aware of how tense Christine had become. He didn’t like their nice dinner being interrupted by a group of idiots. 

“How shut you shut your mouth, grandpa,” Matt said. “This ain’t between you and me. This is between me and them.” He gestured to Christine and Jean. 

“That may be true, but again,” Claude said, his voice becoming darker. “You’re interrupting our nice meal. And I suggest you leave now.” Frollo had stood up by now, glaring at the offending group of boys. 

“Fuck this, man,” one man said, and he went to swing at the minister. Frollo smirked at the surprise on the boy’s face as he easily dodged the punch aimed for his head. 

By now, Christine had stood up, explaining that there was no need to fight, trying to calm the group of men down. Jean was currently in fisticuffs with the other boy, and Matt held onto Christine’s arm. 

“I have no patience for your insolence, child,” Claude said as he hit his opponent in the face hard with his ring clad fist. The offending man fell, clutching his face where Frollo’s rings had caught him, bleeding into his own hand. Claude looked towards Christine and noticed her own predicament. 

Frollo saw red. His opponent went to swing again, and Claude dodged it just as easily, delivering a swift blow to the poor man’s face again, rendering him unable to stand. 

He squared his shoulders and started to walk to Christine, who was being drug away little by little by Matt. Claude briefly wondered why no one else helped, but discovered everyone was holding out small boxes and pointing them towards the fight. He focused on Matt, and started to walk menacingly towards him, but was stopped by the man who was fighting Jean. 

“Oh you’re in for it now,” he said, holding up a wooden weapon over his head, ready to swing. Frollo swiftly looked at Jean who was slumped over a chair. Christine noticed as well, for Claude heard her scream out her friend’s name. 

He turned his attention back to his new opponent, who was in mid swing. Frollo caught the weapon with his hands, effectively halting the man’s movements and catching him off guard. Frollo pushed the handle of the weapon into the man’s stomach, making his opponent double over. Frollo took the opportunity to make a blow to the man’s face, rendering him unconscious.

Frollo was breathing a bit hard, but straightened himself, glaring at Matt with such fury. 

He walked to Matt and Christine, ready to beat the man into submission, but Christine had effectively beaten him to it. She had Matt by the throat, holding him above her, his feet barely brushing the ground. Her eyes were glowing white.

_What in God’s name?_ _Is she a witch?_

“Christine!” 

Frollo turned around, finding Jean awake and making his way towards them quickly. He was bleeding somewhere on his head. He stopped next to the minister, and started reaching into his pockets frantically.

“Shit, shit shit!” Jean exclaimed. “She didn’t go into the lab today, which means she didn’t get her antidote,” he quickly explained. He pulled out a syringe, yanking the cap off and tapping the needle a bit. He ran up to Christine and stuck the needle in the side of her neck. Immediately, she dropped Matt, who started to run away. She turned, and Frollo could see her face clearly. She looked so sad, so broken,despite the glowing eyes. He was startled when it seemed that she was looking at him, though he couldn’t tell if she was or not. The the glowing faded and she slumped forward. Jean caught her, smoothly scooping her up into his arms. 

“Her bag,” Jean said to Frollo. “Do you mind?” Frollo went back to the table, brushing past the group of onlookers who had formed, and grabbed Christine’s bag. He turned and rushed after Jean and Christine’s retreating forms. 

\------

Frollo paced the common room floor, sometimes stopping to look at Christine, who was fast asleep on the long piece of furniture. Jean was packing bags full of clothing and essentials, claiming they needed to move quickly. 

Frollo was torn when it came to trusting these two. They clearly had not told him everything when it came to what they do or are capable of. He wanted to scream at Christine, shake her awake and demand she tell him everything. What was she? Why does she glow? What does the glowing mean? Was she cursed just as he was? 

Frollo huffed harshly and slumped down in a chair, closing his eyes and pingching the bridge of his nose. He tried to calm himself by reciting the Lord’s Prayer to himself. During his prayer, Jean threw a medium sized bag in Frollo’s lap.

“Your old clothes and new clothes,” Jean explained, throwing two bags over his shoulder and scooping Christine into his arms. 

“What are these for?” Frollo asked, slinging his own bag onto his shoulder. 

“We need to leave, now,” Jean said, heading to the front door. “Christine usually isn’t allowed access to the outside world, but was given a chance to do so about a month ago.” He paused. He tilted his head towards the back door. “We’ll leave through there instead.”

Frollo rushed to the glass back door, swinging it open for Jean, who stepped out. Frollo wasn’t far behind him, but nearly collided into Jean’s back.

“Why did you stop?” Frollo asked, but his question was answered with the site of armed men pointing their weapons at the trio. Frollo swallowed thickly. They were surrounded. A man in a dark suit and black overcoat stepped forward, dark glasses covering his face. 

“So glad you could join us, gentlemen,” he said. His voice was cold and deep, not quite matching his build. “I believe you’re coming with us.”

Frollo heard Jean say something about this all being cliche, but was suddenly held by his arm as one of the soldiers escorted him to a black box with wheels, a car of some sort. He tried to turn around and  catch a glimpse of his companions, but the armed man pulled the minister foward. 

“Hold still old man,”he said, and a black cloth bag was pulled over his head, and his hands were bound behind him. 

“Time to take you and your friends for a ride.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was silent, but also loud. Frollo knew they were moving. It felt like a carriage, only smoother. He couldn’t see, but knew Jean and Christine were with him. Jean made a show of yelling obscenities as he was captured, and Frollo had heard someone say “don’t damage her.” 

Claude was hurt and infuriated. He hated the witch who sent him here. He hated the trials God put before him. He hated everything about his situation. 

He hated that he was growing soft for Christine the most. 

During the ride to wherever they were going, Frollo reflected on his actions. He should’ve let the old woman go. but he could not change the past. He thought about Quasimodo, wondering how the boy fared after realizing his foster father was missing. 

_ Probably was corrupted by that temptress dancer.  _ he thought coldly. 

His thoughts then wandered to the dancer.  _ La Esmeralda.  _ He remembered vividly how her body moved. How her lips felt on his skin, despite how small the kiss was. He also remembered how she had humiliated him in front of everyone. 

_ Oh Maria, take me from this vile place.  _

He felt the vehicle stop and a pair of hands grabbed Frollo’s arms from behind, making him stand and walk, Frollo took small steps, tryin  to be cautious, but the guard did not like it and shoved Frollo forward, making him fall. He must’ve fallen out of the vehicle, for his fall took longer than expected and the ground was wet beneath him, as if it was raining. 

“Bring them inside,” he heard a voice say. “They’ll want to meet the subject’s friends.”

_ Subject? Does she mean Christine? _

Hands pushed at Frollo again, urging him to walk. Inside the cloth bag, he could hear his own breaths, each one coming out sharply. 

_ God help us. _

After some time of walking, Frollo was pushed to his knees. He was tired, the weight of his bag having been somewhat heavy, made his legs feel like dough. the hood was yanked roughly from his face, and Frollo closed his eyes to the blinding white light. 

He shook his, trying to gather his wits about him. He looked around and saw Jean to his right, looking more beat up and bloody. He looked for Christine, finding her on his right, awake and on her knees, her eyes downcast but fiery. He saw her glance quickly at him, and he felt a pang of sadness at the sorrow hidden in her eyes. 

“Subject 113,” the same female voice from earlier called out loudly. Frollo looked at her as she spoke. “You were granted outside permissions, yes?”

The woman was thin, her gray-blonde hair pulled back tightly and thin framed glasses sat on her nose. She wore a white coat, a red blouse and black, slim skirt. She held something in her hand, which she kept tapping her fingers on. 

“Answer me 113.’ she demanded. 

“Yes,” Christine’s answered evenly, still looking at Frollo. 

“You neglected to come in for your weekly antidote today, correct?” the thin woman asked. Her face looked like it was stuck in a perpetual pinched expression. 

“Yes,” Christine replied. “Didn’t think I’d need it,” she said haughtily. Her response elicited a hard, resounding  _ smack _ from the closest guard. 

Watching Christine’s head snap to the side made Frollo’s stomach churn, though he did not protest. He still didn’t know how to feel towards Christine. 

“Subject 113 realizes that all special permissions have been revoked and her status of a stable subject has been revoked?” Thin Woman asked. 

Frollo looked away from Christine, unable to subdue the myriad of emotions running through him. 

“Yes,” he heard Christin answer, her voice cracking. 

“Escort the others to their rooms,” the woman said, not sparing a glance in their direction. 

Frollo and Jean were heaved up and escorted swiftly down a long, metallic hallway, before being thrown into a room together. The guards unbound their hands and slammed the door as they left, leaving Frollo and Jean to themselves. 

\--------

Hours must have passed. Frollo didn’t speak to Jean, afraid his anger would get the best of him. Instead, he spent the passing time by pacing the length of the floor repeatedly, while jean sat dejectedly on a bed. 

Frollo noticed that the room was large and well furnished, despite being a cell. There were two chairs, two beds, two closets and two bathrooms.

He looked back at Jean, watching the other man rub his face, pain flittering across his features from his wounds. Frollo couldn’t handle it. 

He crossed the room quickly, grabbing Jean by his shirt and forcing him to stand. Jean looked up in surprise, but it did not deter Frollo’s rage. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this would happen?!” he demanded, his voice loud and angry. He shook Jean as he spoke. “What in the devil’s name is Christine? Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning this could be a problem?!” He threw jean down when the answer he got was a resigned look. “Why was I sent here?! What  _ lesson  _  is supposed to be learnt from this?! That I was right?! Witches and demons exist? That the way of God’s word is lost?!” he spat frantically. 

His eyes were wide and his rage betrayed him. He clenched his hands and paced as he spoke. His hair was becoming tousled from his emotional outbursts. 

“I wish I was home, not here with this sinning abomination,” he said out loud. 

At that statement, Jean stood up and came to stand in front of the minister.The two were eye to eye, their gazes equal in hatred and anger. 

“She’s a test subject,” Jean said harshly. “She was orphaned as a child and brought here for experimentation when the people who found her realized she wasn’t quite right.”

Frollo thought of Quasimodo in that instant.

“”She wasn’t… Right,” Jean said, stepping away. “The way she looks now is far more than how she used to look.” 

“Far more what?” Frollo asked, watching Jean with narrowed eyes. He would not let some sob story sway his anger. 

“Beautiful,” Jean answered. “When she was brought here, she was no more than four. Her hair was pure white, looking as if it had a glow to it. Her eyes had no color and she was nothing but skin and bones. She looked like a fallen angel.”

_ A demon,  _ Frollo thought to himself. 

“So the scientists ran tests on her,” Jean continued, sitting back on the bed. “They found a way to subdue her condition, if you will. Hence the needle I used earlier.” 

Frollo was still very confused. Why would the witch send him here? This had nothing to do with his way of life back in Paris. Nothing connected him to this at all. 

The door was swung open and two guards stepped in, motioning for the two men to step out into the hallway. They were led to another room that looked like a lavish sitting room, and Frollo immediately locked his eyes on Christine, a burning anger and twinge of betrayal flitting across his features. The door was shut behind them and Jean rushed to Christine, kneeling beside her, repeatedly asking if she was okay, while Frollo turned his back to the pair. 

Frollo was a little jealous of how close they were, knowing he won’t ever be that close to a woman, but then reminded himself that she was no woman. 

“Claude,” she started to say, her voice soft.

“Silence!”he said, turning swiftly to her. “You abomination!” he cried. “You made believe you were a child of God, serenading me with your lies and falsehoods!”

Christine's eyes were wide with hurt and surprise. 

“You are no child of God. You are a demon, sent from hell. And I will no longer rely on your help.”


	8. Chapter 8

Frollo felt sick. He felt worn down. After getting after Christine, he left her alone, taking a seat by the fireplace, staring into the flames intensely. He heard Jean argue with Christine about what Frollo had said. He noticed Christine did not give her friend a response.

Frollo had leaned his head into his hand, a myriad of thoughts swirling around behind his closed eyes. He heard a throat clear, and Frollo lifted his eyes to meet the fiery ones of Christine.

_Smack!_

Her hand had hit his face hard, snapping it to the left. Frollo stood up, his face folded in pure rage, the shadows of the fire only sharpening his face.

“You wretched-” he began harshly, raising his hand, but clenched his fist by his head and shook.

“I find you in my home,” she said, her voice shaking with rage. “I let you _stay_ in _my home._ I dress you. Feed you. Teach you! And yet, THIS is how you repay me?!” Her voice was raised high, her eyes blazing with blind rage. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and Frollo couldn’t help but think she was beautiful in that moment.

“Yes, I should have told you that I’m not normal!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “But to a total stranger?! Why should I trust you?! You of all people? Believe me, Minister, I know how you really feel about those different than you. You torture them! Burn them! Hang them!” Her eyes were wild and Frollo felt compelled to keep his eyes locked with hers.

“I know all about it. Thanks to the internet,” she said. “‘Minister of Justice, Claude Frollo, was reported missing on January 6th, 1482, never to be found again,’” she quoted. “You don’t get to go back, Frollo. So get your head out of your self-righteous ass and just…” she stopped, her eyes cast downwards now, her shoulder sagging.

“Just what?” Frollo urged, his hand now at his side, his rage dissipating slightly. _Damn her!_

“Nevermind,” she said. “You wouldn’t really listen anyways.”

The sound of a door opening startled all three of them, each one looking at the door in alarm.  A guard stepped in. “Jean, you have been reassigned a room,” the guard said.

Frollo felt a small bit of relief at those words.

“Each of you, come with me.”

Frollo and the other two followed the guard. Christine was sent to her room first. Frollo tried to catch her gaze, but she kept her eyes away from him. Frollo didn’t register that the guard was talking to Christine about the new rules. He watched her nod her consent and go into her room, closing the door behind her.

Frollo was next. He absentmindedly listened to the guard, telling him that he was free to roam this side of the building as he wished. Frollo nodded and went to the bed in his room, barely noticing his bag was there, and closing the door behind him.

_“You don’t get to go back, Frollo.”_

Claude unbuttoned his waistcoat, the words repeating in his head. He then unbuttoned the white shirt beneath it, leaving it on and open. He sat down on the bed, putting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face with both hands.

 _I don’t ever return to my home,_ he realized.

A swell of grief overcame him and he swallowed back the emotion, feeling it lump harder in his chest. He doubled over, his hands clutching the back of his head, and there he silently wept, praying that God forgive him for his wrongdoings and grant him peace with this new knowledge.

He was to be stuck here for the rest of his life.

\------ 

Frollo slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning under the sheets. He dreamt of Paris, of his home.

He dreamt of the church, of visiting Quasimodo. He dreamt of the square, of the Palace of Justice. He could smell the air as if he was there again. He dreamt himself standing in front of his large fireplace. He saw himself  praying to Maria, clutching something in his hands. The fire in front of him danced before his eyes, taking the form of a woman.

_ La Esmeralda.  _

He turned away, casting the object into the fire without thought. 

_ ‘I don’t want this,’  _ he said aloud.  _ ‘I don’t want her. Or any other woman!’ _

He turned his gaze back to the flames. The image of the dancer was gone. Frollo felt himself sigh in relief, putting his hand on his chest, absentmindedly feeling his usual robe beneath. 

_ Thank you, Maria, _ he thought, closing his eyes. 

Upon opening them again, he was standing in front of the church. He looked up at the large doors, which were closed for the evening. 

The wind was picking up, and Frollo noticed the air was chilly. He tried wrapping his robe around him, but noticed he was wearing the clothes Christine had given him. He was shocked. 

He heard a soft voice, the wind carrying it to him. The voice was soft and beautiful, waxing and waning with the howls of the wind. Frollo headed to the source of the voice, heading past the church. He followed it through the streets, twisting around every corner. 

He suddenly saw the end of a white cloak rush past a corner, and Frollo started to run after it. As he got closer, the voice crescendoed into a beautiful minor key. He reached out to grab the cloak, stop the woman who was singing, but the cloak fell limp in his hands. He looked up find the singer dressed in all white, her skirt trailing behind her as she continued to move. Frollo grabbed her arm, and she turned to face him. 

_ RING RING RING! _

Frollo awoke with a start. He frantically looked around for the source of the ringing and saw a small black box with red numbers on it. He hit the top of it to stop the noise, and it silenced after three tries. 

Frollo laid back on the pillow and shut his eyes, the image of those glowing eyes burned in his mind. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating goes up in this chapter due to some pretty heavy subjects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating goes up in this chapter due to some pretty heavy subjects.

Months had passed since Frollo dreamed of the woman in white. He learned many things regarding the technology of this time period from the residents in the building where they stayed. 

Scientists, they had called themselves.

He learned about how cars work, what microwaves are, what the TV really does (which he won’t go near because it’s too loud), what cell phones are; nearly everything used in daily life, he studied. He loved almost every advancement made. But for everything that was new, Frollo stilled found himself longing for his life back in Paris. For the simplicity of it. 

Christine hadn’t been seen since their first night. Claude and Jean had worked out most of their differences, though the two still butted heads when it came to morality. 

Frollo found himself, more often than not, missing their companion. He felt guilt at what he had said to her. After speaking more in depth with Jean about her, he found she was a devout Christian, though she didn’t fall in any one denomination. She had love and kindness in her heart, never judging those that would otherwise be judged. Upon learning more about her, Frollo felt more guilty, praying to God that she would forgive him. 

\------

**//TW: mentions of gore and blood//** .

Frollo stepped out of his room, dressed in dark red and black ensemble. His shirt was a dark red, his waistcoat black, matching his pants. He quite enjoyed this particular outfit. 

He made his way to the kitchens, where he saw Jean, who was with another man. The two stood uncomfortably close, and Frollo cleared his throat, announcing himself to the room. 

“Oh, Claude!” Jean exclaimed. As much as they disagreed, they had become close- as close as Frollo let people get.

Jean grabbed his friend’s arm, leading him to frollo. 

“Claude, I want you to meet Luke,” he said joyously. His brown eyes were glittering with happiness, and Christine’s words echoed in the minister’s head. 

_ “I don’t agree with him, but it’s not my place to judge him. Only to love him, as I am commanded in the Bible.” _

Frollo swallowed his usual disdain and shook Luke’s hand. “You're the one Jean won’t shut up about,” he said. “It’s good to have a face to a name,” 

Luke was about as tall as Frollo, pale blonde hair and gray blue eyes. The exact opposite in looks from Jean. 

“And you must be Claude,” Luke said, a thick Russian accent in his tone. “I’ve heard about you.”

Frollo felt a wave of hesitation. They had agreed not to talk to anyone about it. They had convinced the scientists that he was from a very poor country.

“Jean tells me you’re studying medicine,” Luke said.

Frollo sent a swift glare to Jean, almost unnoticeable. He was not made aware of this. 

“Yes,” he said calmly. “I need to learn something while I’m here.”

“I do not like that you all are locked up here,” Luke said, his accent getting thick with anger. “They say the incident was just a show. On the news. Yet they keep you here!”

Jean stepped forward, placing his arm on Luke’s and leading him away, throwing a sad look at Frollo, who nodded solemnly. 

They were locked away in here, wherever here was. Jean had no clue where this place was, and Luke was allowed on the terms that he be blindfolded and have music in his ears while he was driven here. 

Frollo shook his anger away and went to look for some food. He had learned how to use every kitchen appliance, and found himself to be quite a skilled cook, though it took many failed attempts and a lot of anger at the appliances.  

As he made his breakfast and said his morning prayers, he pondered his recent bout of dreams. 

They were filled with images of Paris, of Notre Dame and the Palace of Justice. Things he was familiar with dreaming about. But what struck him as odd was that there never any people, as if the city was empty and lifeless. 

As he chewed his eggs, he recalled the large doors of the church, were always closed. 

_ If only God had granted me the gift to interpret dreams, just as Joseph did in the Bible.  _

Frollo’s musings were interrupted by a piercing scream. He dropped his fork and ran out of the kitchens and in the direction of the scream, hoping to find Christine. He ran down a long, metal hallway, which he knew led to the labs. Two guards stepped in front of him, stopping the minister. 

“You can’t go in there,” one said. 

“What’s going on?” Frollo asked, trying to see past the guards. The door was sliding shut, and he saw saw doctors holding a woman down as she struggled on a table. 

_ Christine! _

“She’s going to be okay,” the other guard said. “Go tell your friends.”

“It doesn’t do well to lie,” Frollo said menacingly. He turned to leave, but a trail of red caught his eye. Blood pooled and seeped under the door. 

Frollo’s surprise must have given him away, for the guards had turned too. One ran up to the door, pressing a button to open it, and Frollo caught glimpse inside. 

The doctors were mutilated. Parts of them strewn about the lab. From Frollo’s line of sight, he could see Christine standing on the table she was previously being restrained on, her eyes white and glowing. She was crouched, her hands outstretched before her. She was screaming in agony and Frollo saw her white dressing gown was covered in red near her stomach. More guards ran down the hall and Frollo was pushed aside roughly. 

The other guard who was in front of the door came over to Frollo and took him by the arm, leading him back to his room. “It’s be best if you stay away from here, Mr. Frollo,” the guards said. 

Frollo nodded back blankly, the image of Christine’s blood covered form burned into his mind. 

Once near his room door, the guard nodded solemnly to Frollo and walked away. The minister ran to Jean’s room, knocking on it so hard his hand felt like it was going to break. 

After a few seconds, Jean answered it, looking disheveled and out of breath. 

“What?!” he exclaimed. 

Frollo paid no attention to what they could have been doing and said, “It’s Christine. They’ve been keeping her in the west side of the building. They’re doing something to her.” He was frantic. “There was blood and body parts, and-” Frollo stopped, trying to catch his breath. He straightened himself up. “We need to get out.”

Jean nodded. “They’re destroying her,” he said. Luke had come up behind Jean, looking as worried as Jean. 

“Why?” Frollo asked. 

“Dr. Stephan is obsessed with her,” Luke said. He opened the door wider, motioning for Frollo to step in with them. He closed the door behind him and said, “He wants to harness her abilities. Her unnatural strength. Among other things. He wants to do what she can.”

“But not with the same ideals as her,” Jean said. “She’s kind, nice to everyone she meets, no matter what situation. But Stephan is corrupt. He wants to get rid of anyone weak. He wants a world with only the strongest. And he wants to lead them.”

Frollo became acutely aware of how he and Dr. Stephan paralleled. He paled at the thought. 

“It doesn’t help that he’s been in love with Christine for a number of years,” Jean said, shaking his head, his face filled with disgust. “He was not the original Head Doctor when Christine was brought here, only a medical examiner. But he made damn well sure that he would be the only physician that saw Christine. He rose quickly in the ranks of the scientists and doctors.

“About two years ago, he became Head Doctor. He’s been in charge of caring for Christine and overseeing her tests. He’s literally  been keeping an eye on her for nearly a decade.”

Frollo felt sick to his stomach. “His obsession with her led him to madness?” he asked, fearful that the answer could reflect in himself with his own obsession with La Esmeralda. 

“Not entirely,” Luke said. “He’s always been corrupt. Always testing on people, and disposing of the ones who can’t handle his experiments.” Frollo felt the wind get knocked from his lungs.

The minister thought for a moment. “How do we get her out?” he asked. He needed to get them out, to save her, to redeem himself for his own wickedness. 

The trio sat there, each thinking of a plan, but no one spoke up for a time. 

“I’ve got it,” Luke said. 

“What do we need to do?” Frollo asked. 

“We need to leave the country,” Luke replied. “And I’ve got just the right kind of friends to help us.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //TW: blood mentions and light gore//

Luke left later that night, after having taken pictures of Jean and Claude, saying something about passports and IDs.

Frollo and Jean sat in the kitchen, not saying anything as the severity of the situation sank in. Frollo was anxious, constantly keeping himself alert, but looked calm and collected on the outside. He worried for Christine. After hearing about Dr. Stephan and his acts towards Christine, he began to reflect on himself. 

His obsession with the gypsy wit-  _ girl- _ was just as uncalled for as the doctor’s obsession with Christine. 

_ They are vermin,  _ he thought.  _ Each one corrupting my city.  _

He thought of Paris again. It seemed to never leave his mind. 

_ A city I can’t go back to.  _

A sudden thought came to him. 

“How did Christine become a Christian?” Claude asked. 

Jean looked up from his cup of coffee, putting his gaze on the minister. “The former Head Doctor,” Jean said. “He was a Catholic, always doing what was right. He didn’t like what they did to Christine, so he always made sure she knew that God was watching and loving her, when no one else did.” Jean paused, taking a sip of his drink. “She once told me she used to never believe the old doctor, saying that it was a scam to get her to cooperate. She started to believe when she saw pictures of angels in the Bible. She described it as finding someone who looks like her made her understand a bit more.” Frollo made a face. 

“Angels do not look like Christine,” he said. 

“How do you know?” Jean rebutted. “Have you ever seen an angel?”

Claude resigned himself. “No I have not. But there are descriptions in the Bible.”

“Which can be argued as interpretations,” Jean said. “We won’t know what they look like unless they show us themselves. Christine saw an artist’s depiction, doesn’t mean it’s accurate.”

Claude knew he had a point. He motioned for Jean to continue. 

“She read the Bible, studied it like it was going to disappear at any moment,” Jean said. “She started praying, started to follow the commandments. If you ask her what her favorite story is, she’ll tell you that it’s Moses’ story. The old doctor was kind to Christine, became something like a father. He taught her to read and write, to pray, gave her gifts for her birthday and Christmas.”

“What happened to him?” Claude asked. He felt that the former doctor was a lot like Father Augustine, the deacon of Notre Dame, despite what he was allowing happen to the girl. 

Jean sighed, looking into his cup. “No one knows,” he said. “The old man just disappeared. Thoguh some of us have some theories, especially concerning the new head doctor.” Jean’s gaze was malicious, and Frollo’s anger rose. 

“Good evening gentlemen.”

Both men turned and saw a tall man standing in the doorway of the kitchens. He had a long face, and his mouth was small. His hair was black and pulled back, spots of white and gray peppering it. His eyes were a gray-green color and glasses sat on his aquiline nose. He wore dark colors underneath his lab coat, which was kept immaculately clean. 

“I’m Dr. Stephan,”he said.

_ Good Lord, he nearly looks like me,  _  Frollo thought coldly.

“I apologize for you having to see that little scene, Mr. Frollo,” the doctor said. “It was unfortunate for you, I’m sure.”

“Is Christine alright?” Frollo asked dryly, keeping his eyes locked with Stephan’s.

“I can assure you that she’s fine,” Stephan said. “She’s holding up rather well, considering how much she’s been through.” A cold smile formed on the doctor’s lips. 

“When can we see her?” Jean asked hotly, his eyes ablaze with fury. 

Stephan walked closer, his hands motioning with him as he spoke. “All in good time, Jean,”he said. “She needs time to recuperate from her operation. It was, quite a mess, as our friend here witnessed.” He had motioned to Claude. 

“What exactly did you do to her?” Jean asked, his knuckles white from gripping his mug tightly.

“Just removed some parts of her that became unnecessary,” the doctor said. He turned to walk out, but turned to Claude. “She can be quite submissive when provoked,” he said chillingly. A large smile spread across the doctor’s lips and he laughed as he walked out. 

“What the fuck does he mean by that?” Jean asked as soon as the Doctor was well beyond their line of sight.

“Removed some parts….” Frollo trailed off. “The blood was near her stomach,” Claude said, reflecting on what he saw.

“What? Does she not need to eat or something?” Jean asked. 

Their thoughts were interrupted by a blaring alarm noise and flashing red lights. 

“ _ All security, report to the west side labs. All security, report to the west side labs.” _

Jean and Claude instinctively started to run towards their rooms. Jean turned to Frollo as they ran, and said, “Looks like our way out is here.”

\------

Jean and Claude has stuffed their bags with clothing and kitchen knives. They waited until the guards ran past their doors before they tried to follow, heading to west side. 

Claude, being the man he is, stuck to the shadows, clinging to the walls like he was a part of them. Jean was sneakily hiding behind guards as the walked, effectively blending in without being seen. Claude inched behind them, thankful for the dark clothing he was wearing. 

He held a large butcher’s knife in his hand, grasping it tightly. They neared the entrance of the labs and Claude nearly dropped his weapon in surprise. The last of the guards brushed past while Claude and Jean stayed behind.

Holes were burnt out of the walls, leaving the labs open for all to see. Emaciated people were held in cages, their eyes colorless, some missing limbs and other body parts. Each one looked defeated, barely alive. Claude didn’t think any of them were alive. They ranged in ages; some looking as young as fifteen, other looking as old as eighty. All of them were naked, their bones jutting out in sharp angles against their skin. 

“Oh my god,”Jean said. Some of the subjects’ heads snapped up. 

“Help us,” one said, their voice barely above a whisper. 

“We wish to die,” another said weakly.

“Claude,” Jean said, motioning for the minister to move on. “We’ll help you,” Jean said solemnly. “I hope to God we can end this for you.”

Claude and Jean started to move towards the sounds of gunshots. After passing through a few rooms, some more gruesome than others. They came to large room, nearly completely destroyed. Most of the walls were obliterated, letting the cool night air come in. Guards had their guns pointed to the middle of the room, where a large piling of rocks had formed. Fires were blazing in some parts of the destroyed room, lighting the area. 

“Keep the girl alive, you idiots!” Stephan snapped. Claude and Jean stayed hidden as the doctor stalked the decimated grounds, a gun in his hands. His clothes were torn and bloody, leading Frollo to believe that he had been hurt. His hair was falling across his face, the band holding it together had evidently come apart. During his observing of the doctor, Claude noticed something. 

It was  _ silent. _

Frollo turned his attention to the middle of the room, seeing that the guards had stopped firing. A white glow came from behind the pile of rocks, wind gathering near it.

Suddenly, a figure jumped high above the area, smoke billowing around it. The the figure swooped down at the guards, and they fell as it passed, their arms and legs broken. 

Frolo tried to keep up with the figure, but it was too fast. Suddenly it swooped by, and Frollo caught a glimpse of glowing white eyes. They looked at him, and Frollo saw the smoke clear around its face. It was if time had slowed.

_ Christine. _

Her hair was white as snow, and her eyes were glowing so fiercely, that they left light trails behind them. Her expression was angry and she let out a noise, sounding sad and mournful. Her voice echoed solemnly, almost like she was standing in the very halls of a cathedral. Her hands reached towards Claude and he leaned in to touch her. 

“GET HER!” Stephan screamed. 

Christine covered herself in smoke, and sped off. She threw guards down, making them fall back and release their guns. 

“Fire at her, you fools!” Stephan said, raising his own gun.

Christine came up to Stephan, throwing his gun to the side and putting her hands around his throat. Stephan placed his own hands on he's in an attempt to break her hold.

“Your treachery is over,” Christine said, her voice echoing loudly. The glowing around her eyes became red. “May God have mercy on your soul.” 

She raised a hand over her head, her fist engulfed in flame. She went to strike him, but was stopped when Stephan pulled out a hidden blade. 

He stabbed her sharply, and Christine crumpled to the ground before him. 


	11. Chapter 11

Claude didn’t know whose voice had cried out. He felt as if he wasn’t really seeing Christine get stabbed, that it was dream. He saw Jean run out towards Stephan, seemingly blind with rage and anger. He watched Jean pick up a gun and start firing at the doctor, who was laughing like a maniac. 

Frollo still managed to stay hidden, keeping himself in the shadows of rocks and debris. No guard stopped Jean, no one tried to help. Most of them were injured and couldn’t stand. The ones who weren’t injured, merely stood by and watched as Jean shot down the doctor, screaming with every bullet fired. 

Frollo rushed to Jean and wrenched the gun from him. “Stop!” Claude exclaimed. “It’s over, Jean. It’s done.”

Jean looked at the minister, heaving in breaths, and he looked at the doctor, who was still laughing, but leaning against a broken piece of wall near Christine’s body. Frollo tossed the gun aside and made his way to Christine. 

“Don’t...you...touch….her,” Stephan wheezed, clutching his stomach with a blood covered hand. 

“Frollo paid him no mind as he bent to pick Christine up, carrying her in his arms away from the maniacal doctor. 

“Get them!” the doctor shouted fruitlessly. No one moved. 

Jean met up with Frollo and checked Christine’s pulse. “She’s alive,” he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion. “Though we need to treat this immediately.”

Frollo nodded and looked at Christine, grateful that she wa alive. 

“Move out men! Get the girl!”

Jean and Frollo saw more armed guards file into the decimated area, taking their formations around the trio. Frollo barely registered that the doctor was laughing again, focusing on the large number of men surrounding them. 

Suddenly, another hole was blasted through the ceiling. Jean and Frollo looked up and saw a bright light. A figure dropped down on a ladder, shouting at Frollo and Jean to grab on. 

“Luke!” Jean exclaimed.

Luke had his gun pointed to the guards, who just looked at him. Stephan was shouting order to kill them, but no one moved. 

Luke grabbed Christine, and hell broke loose. 

Guards from all sides started to swarm them, cocking their guns and charging towards them. Jean grabbed the ladder and started climbing up. Claude motioned for Luke to climb, wanting to get the girl to safety, before he climbed on the ladder. The guards below started to shoot their guns, firing at the group that was being raised to safety. 

Claude felt a sharp pain in his right leg and looked down. Blood was quickly soaking is black trousers and he started to feel faint. 

“Don’t die on my friend,” he heard Luke say. “We’re almost to the helicopter. Just hang on.”

Claude tried to focus on the helicopter, which they were getting closer to, but Claude could feel his head getting light. Black started to crawl into the edges of his vision and he felt his hands lose their grip on the ladder.

\-------

“How far until we reach safety?”

“Another hour.”

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

“God I hope so.”

\-------

“Claude…. Claude.”

Frollo opened his eyes and saw Jean leaning over him. He blinked at the dark skinned man. 

“Good, you’re awake,” Jean said, backing up a bit. “How do you feel? How’s your leg?”

_ Oh, right.  _

Frollo moved his gaze to his right leg, which was propped up in front of him. He was sitting in a chair, buckled in by straps that crossed his waist and chest. 

“Fine,” he said, covering up how much pain he was feeling. 

“Good,” Jean replied. “We got the bullet out. Luckily you didn’t lose too much blood.”He paused, scratching the back of his head. “Also, don’t freak out. But we’re in an airplane. You know what those are, right?”

Claude nodded, remembering that he read about them somewhere. “They’re quite fascinating.”

“Yeah,” Jean said, taking the seat opposite of the minister. “We’re in a military craft. One of Luke’s friends is a pilot. We’re in the cargo bay, which really takes up most of the plane anyways.”

“Where’s Christine?” Claude asked, remembering the earlier events. 

“She’s in the med bay,” Jean replied, scrubbing his hands on his face. He looked exhausted. “She’s going to live. Stephan didn’t get her too deeply.”

Claude let out a breath in relief. He was growing soft for the girl, and they hadn’t spoken, let alone seen each other in months.  _ Pathetic,  _ he thought to himself. 

“She should be up in an hour or so,” Jean said, standing up. “You stay here. Get some rest as best you can. Busy day of running from Stephan ahead of us.”

Frollo nodded and relaxed as best he could. His back was killing him and his leg was throbbing. He leaned his head back on the wall behind him and closed his eyes, going over everything he had seen and been apart of that day. 

It was overwhelming. All the events and seeing Christine as she is made Claude’s head swim. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but woke up when  violent jerk shook him awake. He rubbed his eyes and looked around, slowly remembering where he was. 

His leg was asleep from being propped up for so long, despite the fact he had no idea how much time had passed. 

He saw the metal that surrounded him as he unbuckled himself. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Claude looked to his left and saw Christine in a chair with wheels. She looked so tired and worn down, her eyes now back to their vivid blue color, dark circles surrounding them.

He looked down at the straps on him. “Why?” he asked, ready to move around. 

“Your leg is in terrible shape. Walking on it isn’t going to make it any better.” SHe rolled herself to his side. “I want to thank you for your help.”

“I didn’t do much of anything,” Claude said, wishing he were more useful. “In fact, I don’t remember getting on the plane, or anything after I was wounded.”

“I don’t either,” she sighed. “But we’re safe, and among friends.” She smiled weakly at him. “I’m sorry you had to witness that little scene earlier. I didn’t know I would get so out of control.”

Frollo still felt his usual disposition for those different than him rise in his chest, but he pushed it away, telling himself he needed to be redeemed in God’s eyes, and being judgemental wasn’t the way to go about it.

_ Demon.  _ The thought crossed his mind when he remembered how Christine flew through the air, her features pale and ghost like. He shook the thought away. 

“It would happen eventually,” he said. “It is apart of you.” He swallowed down his distaste for her unnatural abilities and said, “What happened?”

“Dr. Stephan happened,” she said tersely, her eyes growing hard. “That’s all I’d like to speak of it, if you don’t mind.”

Frollo nodded. 

For hours, they sat and talked of things that didn’t include the violence and torture that was the science facility. They spoke of Claude’s time, of what he did, what his days consisted of. He spoke of Quasimodo, and Christine was baffled at his kindness to the boy. What Frollo didn’t bring up was how he killed the boy’s mother, and how he was only caring for him to atone for his own sins. 

Christine spoke of her reading interests and they had heated debates about the meanings behind certain periodical books. 

Frollo had spent most of the last two months reading anything he could, burying himself into anything with pages and words, reading himself to the point of exhaustion. One of his favorites,  _ Ironically- _ he thought, was Mary Shelley’s  _ Frankenstein. _

During one of their more heated arguments about  _ How to Kill a Mockingbird _ , Christine burst out into laughter, surprising the older man. 

“What do you find so humorous, girl?” he asked, his hair sticking up from his gestures. He smoothed his hair back as he waited for her giggling to stop. 

“You,” she answered after some time. Frollo felt himself get defensive, his childhood years of being bullied rushing to the forefront of his mind. 

SHe must have seen the look on his face, for she said, “I don’t mean that to be rude. I just didn’t think you could be so down to earth. You’re very likeable.”

Frollo felt heat rise up to his cheeks.  _ Likeable. _

“Excuse me passengers,” a loud voice said. “All four of you, we will be arriving in Paris, France in half an hour.”


	12. Chapter 12

_ “Paris?!”  _ Claude exclaimed. He felt faint. “I thought I couldn’t go back. You said I don’t get to go back.”

Christine held her hands out, trying to calm him. “You don’t get to go back to your own time,” she said. “From what I could find about you, I mean. There’s not a lot. People didn’t keep records like we do now.”

Claude was silent, trying to comprehend that Paris might look different than what he was used to. He sat in silence, unhearing of the woman’s words.

_ That wretched witch sent me here for nothing! Oh Almighty God, why have you forsaken me?! _

A thought suddenly came to him. 

_ Perhaps I was sent here to rid the world of the evil that lurks in my city once again.  _ He turned to Christine.  _ I should start with this unholy demon.  _

He knew his purpose, and the weight in his stomach lifted. Christine was looking at him with kind eyes, speaking of something humorous, and Claude nodded absentmindedly. All he could think of was how he was going to get rid of the fallen angel.

_ And he shall smite the wicked… _

_ \------ _

When they landed, Christine was up and about, talking to multiple people about their plan, whereas Claude hobbled around, leaning on an elegant cane to support his weight. 

Jean and Luke and had told the pair about their passport, their new identities. Claude was a priest, visiting for his sabbatical, and Christine was his assistant. 

_ How ironic.  _

They said their goodbyes, Jean and Luke explaining that they were staying somewhere in Italy. 

“We’ll get in touch with you soon,” Jean said, hugging Christine. 

“We’ve got someone on the inside of Stephan’s ranks, so we’ll know his whereabouts and whatnot,” Luke explained. 

Frollo watched as Christine hugged her friends and said their farewells. 

\-------

The pair was led to a customs desk, where they presented their passports and entered the country without a hitch. Claude tried to keep his cool as they walked through the streets of Paris. 

Christine explained that they had gotten a place to stay close to the church, so he could visit it anytime. 

The minister didn’t know how he felt about that development. 

They made their way to the safe house, barely speaking a word to each other as they walked. 

Claude tried to keep his apprehension at bay, but seeing the streets of his beloved had brought back memories. He wanted to run to the Palace of Justice, see if it was still standing. He wanted to climb those steps up to the bell tower. He wanted to see his city, his  _ own  _ city. 

Christine pulled him out of his thoughts when she tugged his sleeve to direct them to a quaint looking house, close to the cathedral. Claude kept his gaze towards the church, only able to see the large towers from his line of sight. 

_ Oh how I miss my own time, _ he thought. 

He walked inside the house and dropped his bag in the living room, sighing heavily and sinking into a plush chair. He looked towards the girl, his fingers hiding his gaze as he looked at her. He knew what he had to do. 

_ The belltower will do nicely.   _


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //TW: Rape

Claude was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of heaving sobs. 

He grunted as he threw his blanket off and set his feet on the carpeted floor of the room he was staying in. He rubbed his eyes and glared at the door, questioning himself if he should help the crying resident, or leave her be. 

His unrelenting guilt it the best of him and he trudged to the door, yanking it open and rubbing a hand on his face. The sobbing grew softer as he got close to the bathroom, seeing the light become distorted under the door. 

He raped on the door with his knuckles. “Are you alright?” he asked through the door, wishing he was back asleep. 

“I’m fine,” Christine’s voice cracked back. She opened the door, revealing her pale face and her tousled hair.She wore a loose shirt and sleep pants. Her eyes were red rimmed and her hair was purely white again. 

“I’ve been trying to dye my hair, but it won’t stay red,” she explained. “It was fine earlier. It didn’t start changing back until after we got settled in.” She sighed. “I can’t hide my hair.”

“You’re crying about your hair?” he dead panned, slightly annoyed that he was woken up for such a mundane problem. 

“N-not exactly,” she replied. She started to close the door a bit and Claude stopped her, pushing it open and brushing past her, walking into the large bathroom. 

He saw blood on the floor in some places, and he looked at Christine, who was looking at him with a steady gaze. 

“What happened?” he asked evenly. 

She sighed and sat on the edge of the tub. “I can’t get pregnant,” she said solemnly. 

Claude failed to see how that answered his question.

“Stephan,” she said, pausing, overcome with emotion. “H-he tried to...Well let’s just say he found out he can’t have children.”

Frollo felt his chest seize with anger. Stephan tried to rape her. As a man of God, Frollo knew that such acts of intimacy be saved for marriage alone. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling his words did nothing to dull her pain. 

_ If demonesses feel pain. _

“He felt that if he can’t have children with me, then I shouldn’t have them with anyone.”

Frollo felt that demons should not be allowed to bear children, so he felt no pity for her. But the look on her face made some of his cold facade give way.

“I truly am sorry,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest, and we’ll clean this in the morning. As for your hair, scarves work well,” he explained, remembering how the gypsy women wore colorful scarves on their heads.”Come child, you need to rest.”

She nodded, pulling her shirt up slightly to check her bandage. Claude looked away swiftly, telling himself that she was just trying to tempt him. She got up and followed him to her room, where he bid her goodnight and headed to his own room. 

He sat in his bed, thinking of way to get the witch to the belltower. He felt that a nice tour of the cathedral would be nice for the next day. 

He would finally be rid of the girl that softened his heart.


	14. Chapter 14

Claude’s plan was never set into motion like he had hoped. Christine had gotten word that Stephan was hot on their trail, and needed to lay low, which meant staying inside and not leaving the house for anything. 

After two weeks of having to put up with being stuck in the same house as her, Claude decided he’d had enough. 

“Change your clothes,” he said, poking his head into Christine’s studio. “We’re going out.”

She stood up from the stool she was sitting on, making her way to him. “What about Stephan? He’s still out there.”

“It’s been weeks,” Claude argued. “Clearly he’s either given up, or is literally just waiting for us to make our presence known. and I highly doubt it’s the latter. Now get dressed, we’re going out.” He turned to leave, rolling up his dark blue dress shirt sleeves. “Oh,” he said, turning back to look at her. “Don’t forget to find a scarf to cover your hair up.”

Christine nodded and brushed past him, going into her room. Claude stayed behind, walking into the studio and looking at her work. 

There were paintings of beautiful scenes filled with fields and forests. None of her works had people in them. They were just filled with nature, the details impeccably accurate. Claude felt his breath get taken away as he gazed upon one one particular painting. 

It had a dark setting, the only color having been painted as a light source for the dark shadows that were cast by the dark, cool colors. It looked like the doors to the Palace of Justice, a dark shadow hanging over it, parts of it illuminated by moonlight. He saw a dark figure standing on the steps of the building, shrouded in black clothing. Upon further inspection, the figure looked like-

“Hey! That’s not finished!” Christine quickly covered the canvas up with a sheet. 

“Where have you seen that building?” Frollo asked. He noticed she wore a red shirt that came off her shoulders, dark pants, and dark boots. She had covered her hair with a red scarf. 

“I dunno,” she answered, shrugging. “I keep having dreams about it.”

“No matter,” Frollo said. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, walking out of the studio and making his way to the front of the house. Christine had nodded and followed him. 

When they exited the house, her eyes were wide as they walked, looking for anyone suspicious. 

Meanwhile, Frollo tried to keep himself collected. Seeing his home town as it was now, made his stomach feel sick. They walked through the town square, passing numerous shops where people’s homes used to be. He led them to the Palace of Justice, and Christine gasped, rushing to the large doors and putting her hands on the wood. 

Frollo noticed that it was now a tourist site, and his heart ached. He motioned for her to walk in when she looked at him with large, pleading eyes.  He watched as she darted in, and he sighed, rubbing a hand across his face and trudging in behind her. 

He noticed as he entered his former home, that almost nothing had changed. The large entrance had some posters on the wall to promote other events in town, but otherwise, nearly everything had been left as it was. Frollo walked through the palace, trailing numbly behind Christine, who was awestruck by the state of the building as well.

They toured the palace, and when they came upon the living quarters, I sign stopped them, reading that it was prohibited to go any further. 

“Dang.” Christine said in a playful tone. Frollo peered at her with a confused look on his face, watching her as she stepped past the sign. 

“I’ve mysteriously lost the ability to read,” she said, shrugging. “Come on.”

The pair made their way through the various rooms, Frollo explaining everything between when the building was made t who used to occupy the rooms. They reached one room at the end of the hall, and Frollo didn’t want to go in. He stopped walking, pausing in front of his own room door. 

“What’s wrong, Claude?” Christine asked, her hand ready to push the large door open. 

“That’s my room,” he said, his face blank.  _ I mustn’t show her weakness. She’ll corrupt me.  _

“Come now Claude,” she said, holding her hand out. “You can do this. It’s only been a few months for you.”

“It was over six hundred years for them,” he argued. He sighed. “Fine,” he said, narrowly looking at the young woman. He motioned for her to open the door. 

They walked into the large room and Frollo was hit with the stale air of his room. His large fireplace was cleaned and the cross was newly polished. The windows were closed,  and the minister could see the little flecks of dust floating in the sunlight. 

“You slept here?” Christine asked. “There’s no bed.”

“No silly girl,” he said tersely, though no malice or anger was laced in his voice. “That door,” he pointed to a smaller door the fireplace. “That’s where I slept.”

Christine opened the door and saw a smaller study room with a small bed at the opposite end of the room. Claude stood behind her and noticed that nothing had been changed in his room. The pair gazed at the room and its contents for a few more moments before they decided to leave. 

In the process of turning around to leave, Christine bumped into Frollo, and he was acutely aware of where she touched him, his skin burning under his clothes as if he were on fire. 

\------

They left the Palace of Justice, Christine walking happily in front of the glowering man.  When they stepped into the lively square, Claude noticed a parade of sorts happening. There were dancers, people in masks, men playing drums and flutes and guitars, and children running around rambunctiously.

_ Oh Lord, please, not a festival.  _

Claude was thrown out of his frantic praying by Christine who said something about being found, and she held on to his collar, her face oddly close to his. 

Before Claude could say anything, Christine put her lips on his and held onto him like he was a savior. 


	15. Chapter 15

_ Hellfire!  _

Her lips were moving.

_ Dark fire.  _

He felt his hands tremble as he instinctively started to place them on her back. 

_ This fire in my skin.  _

All instincts were telling him to run. To flee from her wretched tempting, but he was rooted to the spot, his hands desperately clinging to her as if she were his only source for life. 

Suddenly, she pulled back and he felt cold. She looked around before turning back to him and smiling. 

Frollo did not feel happy. He felt uncomfortable and violated. He scowled at her darkly, his shoulders rose with tension and he saw her smile quickly fade. 

“Do you mind explaining the reasoning behind your disgusting display?” he asked coldly. 

“Not here,” she stated, quickly glancing about. 

A thought came to him. “The belltower, perhaps?” he proposed, the cogs in his mind racing as he awaited her answer. 

She looked towards the destination in question. “Yes I suppose that would work best.”

As they made their way through the large crowds towards the church, Frollo felt a myriad of emotions; some negative, some positive. He felt gleeful to finally be nearing the end of her hold on his heart. He also felt a small twinge of guilt.

The pair walked through the open doors of the holy place and Frollo was hit with a series of flashbacks. He saw himself coming her as a young boy to learn about the clergy. He wished to become the Archdeacon one day. He also saw himself coming here to pray for his wretched father. He remembered the long nights he spent looking at the statues. 

He shook the memories away and he caught up with Christine, who was already slipping up the stairs leading to the tower. He followed suit and felt the brushes of old memories start to stir as he walked the steps up to the tower. he pushed them back and kept his eyes forward. Unfortunately, that meant having to look at Christine's back. He felt heat rising to his cheeks and he dropped his eyes to the floor. 

When they made it all the way up to the top, Christine marvelled at how airly it was, while Frollo avoided looking at the spaces that his late foster son used to inhabit. He did glance around for a second just to see how much had changed. His heart clenched. 

Nothing had really changed, The ropes had mechanical devices that rang the bells themselves, rather than someone do it. The scaffolding and some of the wood had been replaced, but otherwise, it was untouched. Quasimodo’s table and models were still there, untouched. Whoever manned the bells after him must have loved the carvings as much as the boy in question did. Even Claude had to admit that they were very good. 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Christine spoke. 

“Sorry about earlier,” she said, walking to the balcony and looking out onto the bustling city below. “I saw some guys that looked like Stephan’s personal guards. I panicked and I wasn’t going to cause a scene by running away.”

“So kissing me was a better option?” Claude asked, coming to stand beside her. 

“Well,” she paused, color rising to her cheeks. “Yes.”

Claude nodded, feigning interest. He stood closer to her. he looked down at her as they stood very close. He noticed every little nuance of her face as she looked up at him with those  _ damn  _ blue eyes. He leaned his face in closer, gauging her reaction. He was pleased when she didn’t pull away like he thought she would. He reach his hands out and put them on her waist. 

She leaned her head forward and breathed, “I thought you wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh I enjoyed it very much,” Claude admitted. “But I will no longer give into your wiles.”

With that, he tightened his grip on her waist and lifted her above the balcony. She thrashed and kicked, but Claude’s drive to be rid of her made his grip firm. 

He let go of her as soon as she was clear of the balcony and Claude laughed as he watched her plummet. She didn’t scream. She was silent as she fell, which bothered him, but also made him glad, for no one in the crowd below was aware of his crime. 

He was about to turn away, but was stopped when he saw a cloaked figure below Christine. They threw powder at Christine’s falling body and she disappeared, fading as if she was dust. 

_ The Hag! _

Claude started to sprint down the tower steps, pushing past people in the sanctuary and rushing out the church doors. He saw the hag’s cloak retreating around a corner,  _ like always,  _  and he shoved people out of the way as he followed. 

He rounded the corner and reached out to the cloaked figure, grabbing it and bringing them to him. 

“Why?! Why did you send me here?!” he asked frantically. 

“To teach you,” the old hag said gleefully. “You are a tyrant who believes he cannot be touched by the punishment of God.”

“WOMAN. I AM BEING PUNISHED.” he spat. “I just threw that girl off the tower so I can be free of her lying ways. God is punishing me for feeling for her. I wanted to kill her.”

“Because she was better than you.”

“Send. Me. Back.” Claude demanded, avoiding her statement.

“In due time, Minister,” the hag said, still in Claude’s grasp. “But first, the girl must be tested, by testing you.”

“Where is she?” he asked coldly. 

“Somewhere you believe you cannot go,” was her answer.

“Curses woman, enough of your riddles. Tell me where she is.”

“Why? So you can kill her? I think not. That woman is very important to your timeline. You cannot kill her. I’ll make sure you don’t. She’s not Esmeralda. You don’t have the power to kill her in this time.”

Claude had not spoke of the dancer, nor of his turmoiled feelings for her. 

“Argh, nevermind,” he spat. 

“Will you kill her the next time you see her?” the hag asked. “And don’t lie to me, boy. I can see through your cunning.”

Claude thought about his answer. He believed that the hag was making him come to terms with his feelings for the girl. As much as he despised it, he had grown soft for her. Felt a connection with her, which only grew with her kiss. 

“No,” he answered evenly. 

“You will see her soon enough. Perhaps not in this lifetime. Perhaps not even in this time. But I will deem it when you can see her in the place she was sent,” the old woman said. 

Suddenly the cloak went limp in Claude’s hands. The woman was gone. 

“I will not kill her,” he said aloud. “God forgive me. What have I done?”


	16. Chapter 16

Frollo had made his way back to the safe house slowly, his heart feeling heavy and low in his chest. 

_ Why did I want to kill her?  _ Frollo thought to himself as he ran a hand over his face, trying to fight back tears that were threatening to spill over his pale cheeks. Guilt was washing over him, a heavy feeling in his chest.

_ She was so kind to me. So sweet. She brought me in without any judgement and even tried to help me see how much had changed. Oh Maria, I only beg that she forgive me.  _

But a more rational voice piped up to argue his emotional side. 

_ She was a demon, sent from the fiery pit to test me, to show me how weak any other man could be. I am above her! God decreed that we smite the wicked!  _

Frollo stood in front of a bench that looked towards the direction of the church, contemplating both sides of the argument. He sat down, knowing he was going to need to concentrate on himself for a moment.  

_ She fed me, clothed me, taught me and for just one moment, she  _ kissed _ me.  _ Claude shuddered at the thought of the kiss, his stomach churning with emotion. He felt himself get goosebumps and he shook himself mentally. 

_ I am a  man of God. I did what I needed to.  _

_ But was it really necessary? I can’t go back to my time.  _

_ It was necessary. She was a demon. A temptress. I can’t give in to my baser desires.  _

_ But I  _ want  _ her. More than the gypsy. Oh God, how I have fallen.  _

Frollo felt torn, in the literal sense. He felt as if there were two of him fighting over the matter. 

He shook his emotions away and headed back to the house. Upon entering it, his stomach lurched. It reminded him too much of Christine. He walked past Christine’s room and looked inside, his face scrunching into an expression of pain. He stepped in and shut door quickly, the door slamming against the frame.He shrugged off his jacket and undid the first few buttons of his shirt as he stepped into the kitchen. He grabbed a tumblr, a bottle of whiskey, and made his way to the living room. He started up the fireplace and sank down into an armchair. He poured himself a large amount of whiskey and looked at the fire through the brown liquid. 

_ I’ve resorted to drinking,  _ he thought, taking a swig. 

He slouched lower in his chair, his eyes looking at the fire intensely. 

His mind warped the flames into images of people he knew. He caught a glimpse of what looked like Christine, and he lowered his gaze.

_ What have I done? _


	17. Chapter 17

“Is she okay?”

“Look at those clothes!”

“Move! I wanna see!”

“Back away. May way for Minister of Justice.”

Christine felt her head throb as she attempted to open her eyes. The sun was blaring down upon her, and she wished that everyone would just  _ stop talking.  _ Her body felt sore and heavy, and she laid still, eyes closed, hoping to regain some semblance of strength back. 

Before she could do so, she was roughly lifted by her arms, made to stand on her feet. The force of the gesture made Christine open her eyes fully. She lifted her gaze and it was met with a large white horse, and upon that  horse was a man.

He was regally dressed, in black, red and purple robes. He wore a chaperone, which had a red piece of silky cloth attached to it. The man on the horse sneered down at her, his gaze cold. 

“What should we do with her, Minister Frollo?” one of the guards holding Christine asked. 

“Frollo?” Christine asked, surprised at him. He looked similar to Claude, but not completely.

Christine started to notice that there was an audience, and they were privy to the scene going on. They all wore old fashioned clothing and were looking at her like she was some kind of alien. 

“Take her to the Palace of Justice,” the Minister said, taking his gaze away from Christine. “There, we shall discuss what happens to those exposing themselves in public.”

“What?” Christine said, looking down at her dress. “You’re not serious are you? I’m completely covered!”

“You most certainly are not!” the Minister all but shouted. “Your arms and legs are indecent! Do you know nothing?!”

“You’re joking! What time period do you think this is?!”

“It is the year of our Lord, 1458,” the Minister stated coldly. “Feigning ignorance will get you nowhere.”

Christine never responded. She was too shocked. Had she really traveled back in time? 

She tried to think to the last thing she remembered. She remembered the kiss between her and Claude. The bell tower. 

Claude attempting to kill her. 

She also remembered falling, but she couldn’t seem to remember anything after that prior to her current situation. 

She was forced to walk ahead, and Christine gave no fight back. She remembered that this was supposedly part of Claude’s timeline, so she was curious to see what kind of environment he grew up in to become who he became. Assuming she can find him. 

_ The bastard.  _

As they came upon a rather large building, Christine noticed a young boy running up to them, calling out. 

“Father!” the boy exclaimed, waving a hand in the air. His hair was black, and he was on the skinny side, but his eyes were bright.

“Claude,” the Minister said to the boy. “Why aren’t you at church boy? You need to study your lessons.”

“I know, Father, but-”

“Do not argue with me, Claude.”

Christine’s head snapped up and her eyes zeroed in on the boy.  _ Claude _ \- she reminded herself. The boy in front of her looked almost nothing of the man who threw her from the bell tower. 

The boy met her gaze evenly, his eyes full of curiosity. 

“Who is that, Father?” he asked the Minister. 

“Just a woman who clearly knows nothing about decency,” the older man replied. 

“Now leave us, or you shall join her in the dungeon.”

With that, Claude had started to wander off, but he kept looking back at Christine, who was watching him with a cool gaze. 

_ WHACK! _

Suddenly, Christine was thrown was thrown to the ground by a hard hit to her face. Her hands were bound, making her movements to get back up very limited. The guards heaved her back up and she gave no resistance. 

She allowed herself to be taken into the building, and the minister had her immediately thrown into the dungeon to await her trial. 

In her small, bare cell, she sat on a straw mat on the ground that was very thin. The stones beneath her were cold and her dress didn’t do much to keep her warm. She contemplated her situation while she waited for someone to come get her. 

Christine knew she was in over her head. If it really was the year Frollo had claimed, using her abilities would be very much out of the question. She was grateful that her scarf was still in tact, hiding her hair from these people. She knew they most likely wouldn’t react well to seeing a young woman with silvery white hair. 

As she got lost in her own thoughts, she failed to notice someone standing outside of her cell gate. 

“Ahem.”

Christine stood up quickly, squaring her shoulders and looking at the visitor. 

“Claude,” she breathed. The boy stood there, not moving. He was silhouetted by the light from behind him. He said nothing as he looked at her. 

“Can I help you?” Christine asked, giving the boy a puzzled look. 

He shook his head. 

“Then why are you here?”

No response. 

Suddenly, powder was thrown at Christine from behind Claude, stinging her eyes and making her cover her face. 

She tried to open her eyes and see what was going on, but she started to feel tired and worn out. Before she succumbed to the effects, she reached through the bars and grabbed Claude’s shirt.

“The gypsies aren’t to blame,” she said quietly.  Her gaze drifted behind Claude as she started to fall and she met the glowing gaze of a hooded figure. 

“I cast this woman….”


	18. Chapter 18

Christine woke with a start, breathing deeply as she sat up quickly. She rapidly took in her surroundings. She noticed that she was in a large room. It almost looked like a cathedral. SHe took in the large stained glass windows, and was struck with awe as she started to stand up. 

“Beautiful, is it not?”

Christine quickly turned around to face the stranger. She was met the sight of a undeterminable figure cloaked in black, sitting in one of the pew, facing the statue of Mary.  Christine recognized the voice, but couldn’t match it to a face. 

“Yes,” Christine answered, wary of the stranger’s movements. “It is very beautiful.”

“Sit, girl,” the cloaked stranger said, though there was no movement from them. 

Christine sat down slowly, leaving enough room between her and the stranger. 

“Who are you?” she asked, looking at the figure. 

“Oh, never you mind,” the stranger said. Christine could tell that the stranger was a female, due to her voice. 

“I see you’ve already gotten yourself in trouble with the Minister of Justice.”

“Wasn’t my fault,” Christine said indignantly, narrowing her eyes at the cloaked woman. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Of course,” the stranger laughed.

Christine stood up, turning to face the stranger, though was only able to see the profile of the sitting woman. “Why me?!” Christine exclaimed. “Why here?! Why  _ Claude Frollo?!  _ Why this time period?!

“All in due time, child,” the woman answered. “They won’t come for you. In fact, I’ve secured you a place here, in the church.” The woman turned to look at Christine, who was shocked to find the woman’s eyes were glowing white. 

“This is your sanctuary,” the woman said. She raised her hand high above her head, and as soon as she appeared, she had gone, leaving Christine alone in the cathedral. 

\-------

As time passed, Christine had established a simple life in Paris, working at the cathedral of Notre Dame. The Archdeacon had granted her a room near the belltower and she would run errands for the clergy as means of a job. She had made her own clothes that met the societal standards of the time, though she wore tights, a blouse and boots instead of a dress, since she was always out and about. She also wore a scarf at all times to keep her hair covered. 

During that time, she found out that she was transported a few years ahead when she awoke in the cathedral, meaning it was 1856 when she spoke with the mysterious woman last. She also discovered that Claude had given up his classes at the church to pursue the job his father had, as Minister of Justice. 

She knew little of the Frollo family, other than that the Minister was ruthless. The people of the city were scared of him, especially the Romani that had started to enter the city illegally. She also found out that Claude had a younger brother, Jehan, who was not so righteous as the rest of the Frollo family. She knew nothing of their mother, nor was she looking to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. 

Christine had no fantasies about ever getting back, though she did feel horrible for leaving Jean and Luke. She felt free, not having to worry about Stefan coming after her, but she felt lonely. She knew a few townspeople but not enough to call them friends. 

As she passed the baker, who waved and smiled at her, she bumped into someone, knocking herself and the other person onto the ground. 

“You should watch where you’re going, gyspy,” Christine heard the baker say. 

Christine quickly got up and saw a young Romani woman on the ground. Christine helped her up and asked if she was alright.

The girl nodded and looked at Christine with bright green eyes, giving her a peculiar look before running off. 

The baker spoke up. “Why did you help her?” 

“I ran into her, so I needed to help her get back up,” Christine replied smoothly. 

“She was probably stealing something,” the baker scoffed.

“Jumping to conclusions about someone is horrible. What if everyone assumed your bread was made with maggots?” Christine countered smoothly. She smiled coyly and waved before walking off, hearing the baker shout something about how is bread is fresh, and not made with maggots. 

As Christine made her way back to the church, she noticed a man dressed in bright colors coming toward her, being led by the young woman she just ran into. 

“Clopin this is the nice woman,” the young woman said. 

“Hello,” Christine said, wondering what was going on. 

“Hello there,” the man said, looking at Christine with a suspicious look. 

“I’m Esmeralda,” the young woman said. “And this is Clopin. We would like to speak with you.”


	19. Chapter 19

Christine gave them a puzzled look. 

“Why do you want to talk to me?” she asked.

“Not here,” Clopin said, darting his eyes around. 

“Meet us at the tavern,” Esmeralda whispered. “After nightfall, and make sure you aren’t followed.”

What? But why?”

“Just trust me,” the girl said. 

“I would love to but you’re not giving me a lot of options. I don’t know you. I don’t even know where this tavern is!” Christine hissed, wondering why they were whispering in the middle of the square. She motioned for the two of them to follow her to a less populated area.

“Alright you two,” she said. “What is going on?”

“We really can’t talk about it here,” Clopin reiterated. “Believe me, if I could tell you, I would. But this needs secrecy.”

Christine looked the pair of them down, contemplating doing what they said, or going back to the church. 

_ I need a little excitement in my life,  _ she thought.  _ I can keep my abilities under control.  _

“Fine,” she agreed, throwing her hands up. 

Esmeralda jumped a little and hurriedly told Christine the directions to the Tavern, which was on the south side of the city, past the cemetery. 

The three of them waved each other off and Christine started to make her way to the church, her thoughts revolving around the choice she made and how it will affect the future. 

\----------

Later that evening, Christine attended the “nightly chants,” as she called them, before bidding the Archdeacon goodnight and heading to her room. There she grabbed a large black cloak and slid a small dagger in her right boot leg, just in case she needed it. 

She climbed up the stairs to the belltower, which she had come to see as her own little sanctuary as time had passed. She crossed the wooden floor and headed out onto the roof, where she breathed in the cold nighttime air before stealthily making her way down to the side of the church to the ground below. 

She waited for the nightly guards to pass by before she slid past them, making her way to the tavern. 

On her way, the wind had picked up, and Christine wrapped her cloak tightly around her. Winter was on its last leg, and during the day, it was warm enough to not need a cloak, but at night, there was no telling if there was going to be snow in the morning. By the time Christine made it to the tavern, snow had started to fall. 

Christine stepped through the door and was greeted with a wave of warmth and laughter. People were laughing boisterously while they drank and sang, swinging their cups around in their drunken stupor. 

“Ah, there she is!”

Christine turned and saw Clopin leap off of a table and make his way toward her. She looked at him from under her hood, which she kept on to avoid drawing attention to herself. 

“Thank you for coming!” Clopin said, sliding an arm around her shoulders and leading her towards the back of the tavern. They entered a back room and Clopin directed her to sit at the small wooden table in the middle of the room. There was a large, bodyguard-like man who stood in the corner of the rom, and Christine didn’t glance at him for very long. Clopin sat down across from Christine and steepled his fingers as he looked at her. 

After a few seconds of silence, Christine piped up.

“Where’s Esmeralda?” She asked.

“Sleeping. Little kids need their rest you know,” Clopin joked. 

“She can’t be that young,” Christine said. 

“She ten,” Clopin said, amusement gleaming in his eyes. 

Christine was shocked but said nothing else about the matter. 

“I’m here. Now can you tell me why I’m here? Other than that I chose to come here,” Christine said. 

It seemed she had beaten the brightly clothed man to the punch line, since his mouth was open as if he was going to say something. 

He smirked and said, “You seem like a smart girl. I didn’t catch your name earlier.” 

I didn’t give it,” she replied smoothly. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, keeping a cool gaze on her. “I’m asking now.”

“Christine,” she answered. 

“Well, Christine,” he said, looking at her with dark eyes. “I need a favor of you.”

The woman raised a brow. 

Clopin set a bag of money down on the table, silver falling out of the top and spilling onto the table. “You will be paid, of course,” Clopin explained, gesturing to the currency in question. 

“I’m intrigued, but not convinced,” she said, dismissing the money and pushing it back towards her host. Money was of little concern as she seemed to have inherited a large sum of money from a “distant relative.” Christine had a feeling it was the woman who cast her here. 

“What is it you would like to ask of me?”

“We need you to secure a safe place within the church for a Romani family that will be arriving at the dock tonight,” the jester- like man explained. 

“What makes you think I have somewhere for them to go?”

“You can help them gain sanctuary in the cathedral,” Clopin explained eagerly. 

“You must be joking!, Christine retorted. “I only help run errands. I can’t grant sanctuary.”

“Not grant it,” Clopin said. “Help them get into the church. That’s all you need to do.”

Christine rubbed her eyes, trying to process the task before her. “When will they get here?”

The man opposite her started to fidget. “We… don’t exactly know,” he said. “We only know that they will be arriving tonight.”

Christine knew it was well past dark outside, which meant she needed to chose quickly. 

She stood up quickly. “ Fine I’ll do it,” she said, brushing away the bad feeling she was getting in the pit of her stomach. “I can’t guarantee anything,” she stated, looking at Clopin with a heavy gaze. 

“Just do what you can,” he said, a tone of understanding in his voice. “By doing this, you will hold great respect with us and our little community.” He winked at her, walking her to the door of the tavern, and Christine didn’t answer, not knowing how to respond to him. 

“Where do I meet them?” Christine asked, wrapping her cloak around herself , as they were standing outside. 

“The docks, near the cathedral,” Clopin explained. 

“Do we know when they’ll arrive?”

“Soon. You’d better hurry!” 

With that, Christine started to make her way to Notre Dame. When she arrived, it was snowing heavily and the wind was whipping about. She scaled the side of the church, making her way to the roof so she could get a clearer view of the city, including the docks. 

As she was climbing, she heard a shrill scream and what sounded like the fast footfalls of a horse. 

“Please! Sanctuary!”

Christine quickly climbed onto the roof and rushed down to the front of the church, her cloak whipping about her in the cold, snowy wind.

She clung to one of the Saints’ statues and watched as a man on a dark horse kicked the pleading woman down, tearing a clothed bundle from her arms. She felt anger rise through her as she watched the scene unfold. 

The man on the horse made his way to the well, holding the bundle above the mouth of it. Suddenly, she heard the Archdeacon’s voice cry out against the wind. 

“STOP.”

The figure on the horse turned, and Christine recognized him. 

Judge Claude Frollo. 

She knew he could be no older than sixteen and he was already promoted to Judge. His hair was mostly gray and Christine would have giggled, if it weren’t for the current situation. 

She was shocked to find that the bundle of cloth was a baby.

‘ _ Oh no,’ _ she thought solemnly.  _ ‘This must be the family Clopin wanted me to help. Oh no.’ _

She watched the two men argue about the baby’s life, halting all movement when Frollo looked up in her direction. 

She saw Frollo dismount his horse and carry the baby inside, which prompted Christine to make her way to the belltower so she could enter the church. 

Once inside, Christine started to shake the snow off, but ducked behind a large beam of wood when she heard footsteps coming up to the tower. She glanced from behind the wooden pillar, and looked towards the stairs. 

She saw Frollo make his way up the stairs slowly, looking down at the child in his arms. 

“Oh Lord,” she heard him plead aloud. “You’ve sent me a test. This child is my cross to bear.”

He looked down at the child again. “I may not have saved my brother but I will save this…” he paused and Christine almost gave herself away from leaning forward to hear him.

“Thing,” he finished. 

She heard a faint melody come from the Judge and she recognized it from one of the hymns the congregation would sing during Mass. Christine wished to hear him better, and she silently climbed the beam to a higher one, settling herself just above the man. 

“See this loathsome creature from whom lesser men would flee,” he sang, preparing a small bed for the child near the fireplace in the tower. He lit it, and Christine saw his face clearly for the first time that evening. He looked defeated; worn. 

“I will keep and care for him and teach him at my knee.” His face was solemn as he placed the child in the makeshift bed. “To think like me,” he finished, his voice cracking a little as he sang. 

He drew away from the sleeping child and Christine peered down. The child was horribly deformed and Christine felt sorry for him. He would feel many hardships. 

During her pondering, she failed to notice that Frollo had sent up a wet nurse to care for the baby as he left, which forced Christine to sneak back out onto the roof to avoid any suspicion for being up there. 

As she made her way onto the roof, she found herself seeking out Frollo. She watched him as he stepped through the front doors of the church and mount his horse again. She stood with the saints, replaying the night’s events in her head letting her anger wash over her, watching him with an even gaze as he turned to look at the church one last time. 

Christine thought he had seen her, and held his gaze evenly, letting her emotions for him flow through her. She watched his eyes widen before he shook his head and turned, riding away from the church. 


	20. Chapter 20

Claude struggled to get out of bed, groaning as his head pounded from the hangover he had been nursing for the past week. 

It had been months since Christine vanished, and Claude was no where closer to finding her. After his first alcoholic episode, he tried to stay away from the vile liquid, but his depression was greater on some days more than others. 

He downed the glass of water he set out the night before, before wrapping himself up in a robe and padding to the library, which was located on the opposite end of the safe house. 

He didn’t bother with food much, even though he knew he should be taking better care of himself. He was more interested in reading about practical theory and time travel. He even started reading old texts about “rituals” that witches would perform to curse others in the hopes it would help.

During his frantic search for the truth, he gained no further knowledge about how he and Christine were transported, which made him feel even worse about the whole thing.

When he entered the library, Claude was surprised to find a very worn, dark colored, hide covered book on the table he frequently used. All of the books he pulled and put aside on the table were gone, leaving the old book in the middle, clearly laid out for him to see specifically. 

He quickly looked about the room, looking for any sign of an intruder. FInding none, he quickly scoured the house as well, but also found nothing to indicate anyone else had entered the house. He was wide awake and tense as he made his way back to his room. 

He entered the bathroom, quickly showering and mulling over the untouched book. He dressed himself in his familiar colors of purple, black and red, before stepping out of his room and quickly making his way back to the library to read the mysterious book. 

He entered the library and steeled himself for whatever lie waiting for him inside the worn covers.

He picked up the book and felt a rush in his stomach, making him close his eyes and double over. When the rushed feeling stopped, Claude waited for his stomach to stop churning, keeping his eyes closed and focusing on his breathing. 

_ “Beautiful, is it not?” _

Claude quickly snapped upright, his eyes wide as he took in his surroundings. 

He was surrounded in total darkness, except for one light that seemed to be produced from nowhere. As he walked closer, he could see a figure sitting in a church bench. He started to recognize Notre Dame as more of the image came into focus. He stopped short of where the light could reach, still unable to clearly see the figure. 

He could tell they were talking to someone. He could faintly hear indistinct conversation. 

He hesitated for a moment, taking time to look at the book in his left hand. He still hadn’t opened it, and he was unsure if he should. He glanced between the book and the scene before him. 

He shook his head and chastised aloud, “Get ahold yourself Claude. This is nothing new at this point.” 

With that, he tightened his grip on the book and stepped into the circle of light.

When he stepped through, the image became clearer, as if he were standing in the church physically. 

_ Christine quickly turned around to face the stranger. She was met the sight of a undeterminable figure cloaked in black, sitting in one of the pews, facing the statue of Mary. _

“Christine,” Claude breathed. He quickly made his way to her, reaching out to touch her. 

_ “Yes,” Christine answered. “It is very beautiful.” _

_ “Sit, girl,” the cloaked stranger said, though there was no movement from them.  _

As Christine talked, she made no move indicating she noticed Claude. As soon as his hand reached her shoulder, his hand passed through it, making the image of Christine break up into a wispy trail of white before reforming, as if nothing happened.

“What?” Claude asked incredulously, looking at his right hand with confusion. 

He focused on the cloaked figure and deduced that it was the hag that had been causing so much trouble.He made a move to reach her, but found himself stuck in place. 

_ Christine sat down slowly, leaving enough room between her and the stranger.  _

_ “Who are you?” she asked, looking at the figure.  _

_ “Oh, never you mind,” the stranger said.  _

_ “I see you’ve already gotten yourself in trouble with the Minister of Justice.” _

Claude wondered what time period this had taken place in. It was obvious that she knew Claude, that much was apparent.

_ “Wasn’t my fault,” Christine said indignantly, narrowing her eyes at the cloaked woman. “But I’m sure you already knew that.” _

_ “Of course,” the stranger laughed. _

_ Christine stood up, turning to face the stranger. “Why me?!” Christine exclaimed. “Why here?! Why  _ Claude Frollo _?!” _

Claude was staring at Christine intently, also wondering the same thing.

_ “Why this time period?!” _

_ “All in due time, child,” the woman answered. “They won’t come for you. In fact, I’ve secured you a place here, in the church.” The woman turned to look at Christine. _

Claude saw that the stranger’s eyes were glowing white.  _ Like Christine’s _ .

_ “This is your sanctuary,” the woman said. She raised her hand high above her head, and as soon as she appeared, she had gone, leaving Christine alone in the cathedral.  _

The scene froze, and a dark circle appeared on one of the walls, leading back out to the darkness he was previously in. He decided to take some time to investigate the scene before venturing through the light again. 

He walked up to Christine, who was frozen in movement,having started to turn to the statue of Mary. She had a pained expression, almost one of confusion and immense sadness. 

Claude felt for her, knowing that she was probably scared to death. 

While he was busy pondering why he was being shown this, he hadn’t realized how close he was standing to Christine’s frozen figure. He could nearly see every fleck of color in her pupils, and he noticed, for the first time, that her eyes were a bright icy blue. The brightest he had ever seen. 

_ How could I have not noticed? _

He became aware of the height difference between them, marvelling in all he had bypassed in his short observations of her. The top of her head came up to his chin, just under his bottom lip. He glanced at her lips, thinking of the kiss they had shared. Despite the color and warmth that rose to his cheeks, he felt ashamed. He didn’t allow himself to admit he enjoyed the kiss more than he would’ve liked. 

He sighed, the movement blowing part of Christine’s hair into dust before it reformed, reminding him how untouchable she remained to him. 

He made his way to where the stranger was sitting, walking through the frozen smoke to the pew she sat on. There, he noticed a slip of paper resting on the seat. He reached out, expecting it to dissipate like everything else, but was surprised when the paper moved when his fingers came in contact with it. 

He quickly grabbed it, turning it over and reading:  _ Open the book to return. _

He shoved the paper in his pocket before promptly stepping through the light. He turned and noticed that the light had vanished. 

Another beam of light appeared and he made his way to it, stepping through without hesitation. There, he saw another scene; one of Christine speaking with the Jester and a young girl. 

When that one ended, he went to the next one, where Christine and Clopin discussed their plan. 

Then he entered the next one, seeing himself as he argued with the Archdeacon, holding Quasimodo over the well. He felt uneasy and ill watching the scene unfold from the roof with Christine. 

He noticed every scene was from her vantage point, though Claude couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling. 

He entered the bell tower with her, saw himself place the child in a makeshift bed, and then watched himself leave. He stood with Christine on the roof again. Unaffected by the blisteringly cold wind that was blowing around them. When he saw his younger self turn back towards the church, he noticed a faint glowing from his left. 

He turned and saw Christine glowering at the man below with glowing, white eyes. The scene froze and Claude released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

He looked for the way out, but found none. He looked around, unable to re-enter the church. He didn’t dare jump off the roof. It may not be real, but Claude was not taking that chance. 

Instead, he brought the book up and opened it, looking down at the pages and realizing that he was standing in the library with the book open in his hands. 

He hadn’t moved from his original spot near the table. He glanced at the clock and saw that no time had passed. 

He shut the book and moved to set it on the table, but noticed that all of the books he set out were back, cluttering the table. He frowned and clutched the book. It wasn’t much bigger than his hand, and he could easily have fit it in his robes, but he didn’t wear them anymore. 

He put the thought aside as he made his way to the kitchen, noticing he was hungry, despite his hangover. Claude stopped mid walk, noticing that his hangover was gone. His head was no longer hurting and he didn’t feel like he was going to vomit with every movement he made. 

_ Strange, _ he thought warily. 

He entered the kitchen, set the book down and prepared lunch. 

When he turned back to the counter, he noticed the book was gone and it was replaced with a single, white feather. 


	21. Chapter 21

“While your anger is justified, there was nothing you could’ve done to stop him.”

Christine turned around swiftly, seeing the old woman standing behind her, her hood still covering her face. 

Anger coursed through her. She couldn’t feel the violent winds that were picking up, or the snow that was hitting her at a sharp angle. “Why?!” she demanded harshly against the wind. “I don’t belong here! I don’t want to be here! I’m more of an outcast here than in my own time!”

The cloaked woman said nothing, her black cloak whipping about as Christine’s did. 

“You!” Christine pointed a slim finger in the woman’s direction. “You- stay away from me! Unless you’re here to send me back, then don’t bother coming here!”

“You don’t know what you’re aski-”

“I don’t care! A family was killed because of me.” Christine retorted, slicing the air with her hand. “Just. Leave.”

With that, Christine brushed past the woman, who made no move to stop her. 

“Before you turn your back on my completely, know that this is not just for you. I did not bring you here for  _ your _ benefit. You are merely a pawn in  _ my  _ little game.”

Christine turned her head to glance at the woman.

“I know the end result,” the woman said, finally turning to look at Christine, “If you turn me away again, you will not make it and all of this will be for nothing.”

Christine gasped, seeing that the woman’s eyes were glowing white. 

Suddenly, a powder was thrown in Christine’s face and the woman was gone, leaving Christine in the cold, blistering wind and snow. 

For a moment, Christine stared numbly at the spot the woman was previously occupying, before turning around and entering the church. 

Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she was more aware of it when she entered the tower. She shook her cloak a bit, ridding it of the snow that clung to it and her boots. 

She absentmindedly thought about the night’s events, and she felt herself becoming more exhausted. She started to exit the tower and make her way to her room, but she was stopped in her tracks by the sound of a baby crying. 

_ The baby! _

She rushed over to the makeshift bed that held the child and picked him up, noticing that the wet nurse was nowhere to be found, cradling him in her arms, careful to not get the cold cloak on the child. 

She started to gently bounce him as she made her way to the barely lit fire in the fireplace. She cooed at the baby as she prodded the fire with a poker, throwing a small log in and getting it settled, raising the temperature of the room. 

After some time, the child became silent, gazing at her with his misshapen eyes. She noticed his innocence, marveling in his pureness. 

“Who are you?”

Christine’s heart sunk. She knew that voice. 

_ Claude Frollo. _

Luckily, her hood was still up, covering her face. “I beg pardon, Sir Judge,” she said quietly, trying to remember how people address him. She turned her head to the right, keeping her face hidden by the stark shadow from the fire. “I help around in the cathedral. I was doing my rounds and I heard crying. He’s stopped now that he’s warm.” 

She turned slightly and raised her shoulder, indicating that she was holding the child. 

Frollo stepped closer to investigate, and Christine dipped her head, the hood sliding lower on her head effectively hiding from him. 

He stepped in front of her, barely a foot away, his heavy robe hem brushing her cloak. He reached a hand to her and she stilled, letting her breath out when she watched his hand brush the child’s head, the rings on his long fingers glinting in the fire light.

“How can you look at him and not feel ill?” he asked solemnly. “Most of the wet nurses won’t help him because of his… deformities.” Christine could only guess that the wet nurse left in hysterics at the sight of the baby.

She was taken aback at his gentle touch, but said, “I do not judge, Sir, for only God can judge.”

“But not everyone understands such things, so we of the church must guide them and punish them for their wickedness. The wicked shall not go unpunished,” he replied. 

Christine stayed silent, watching him closely. 

After a few moments of silence, Frollo took the child from her. She started to step down the steps, but Frollo said, “You never told me who you are. As Judge, I need to know all who live here.”

Christine held back a sigh. “I will tell you my name only. But no more. You may call me Christine.” She figured since he was bound to ask the Archdeacon about her, there was no point in telling a lie. 

“Take off your hood,” Frollo demanded. 

“No Sir. I am not presentable. Have a good evening.” She bowed slightly and hurried down the wooden steps. When she returned to her room, she removed her cloak, hanging it up on a crude hook in the wall. She pulled her boots off, placing the knife back on the small, cramped table next to her small bed. She noticed a book on her pillow, and looked around the room. She turned her attention to the worn book, opening the cover slowly.

Inside, she noticed an entry. 

_ Oh Lord. I beg for Your forgiveness.  _

_ I’ve done something terrible. I  _ regret _ it.  _

_ It seems I’ve fallen for a witch most un-holy. Her dark skin permeates my inner eye. Her hair is like night.  _

_ I must rid the city of her. Per Your will, my Lord.  _

_ I pray that You forgive me of my wrongdoings.  _

_ I pray for mercy. _

The entry ended there. Christine assumed she had Frollo’s journal, but the date was nearly twenty years ahead of where she was currently. She snapped the book shut, throwing it on the small table and sitting back on the bed, rubbing her eyes. 

A heavy sense of exhaustion filled her and she went to blow out the candle, only to notice the book was now gone, replaced with a single white feather. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for keeping up with this! I have it on FF.net, but I decided to post it here as well. I'm not sure if one can leave reviews here, but I would really appreciate some feedback and thoughts! Thanks for reading and keep your eyes peeled for a new chapter soon!


	22. Chapter 22

Christine woke with a start, the bells above ringing out loudly, waking the town. She sat up, blinking slowly and yawning. The light from her window was so warm, she almost wanted to curl up and fall back asleep. 

She almost did when she suddenly thought,  _ ‘The light is warm? But it’s winter.” _

She looked out of the window and saw that spring was in full bloom. 

_ Spring?! _

Christine leapt up, throwing her blanket to the side and standing at the small window in her room. She rubbed her eyes, and looked through the glass. The town was starting to wake up. New faces had moved in. Some faces were missing. 

_ Knock knock!  _

“Christine. Minister Frollo wishes to meet you in the belltower in an hour.”

The Archdeacon’s voice had filtered through the wooden door, making Christine jump. 

“Yes, right away,” she replied, her hand over her chest, a motion to still her rapidly beating heart. 

She ran a hand through her hair as she tried to gather her thoughts. 

_ It was just winter last night. Frollo was just judge yesterday.  _ She put a hand on her face.  _ Did I sleep through winter? _

She knew the notion was ridiculous, but she dared not believe everything in front of her at the time. She was still reeling from her meeting with Frollo and the mysterious journal. 

She hastily readied herself, slipping her boots on and sliding a small dagger in one. As she reached for the door, she remembered her scarf, which she wrapped around her hair to hide it. 

She left her room and headed to the sanctuary for morning prayers. She didn’t dare miss those. She felt it was really the only thing keeping her sane in the countless twists and turns she’d been through. 

As she made her way down to the sanctuary, she listened to the holy chants. Deep voices echoing beautifully through the church corridors. She slowed her steps on the stairwell, taking in the beauty of the church. 

She never thought she would be in the famous cathedral, especially under such unique experiences. She entered the sanctuary and knelt in front of the statue of Saint Mary. She bowed her head and started to pray when she heard someone say:

“I do not like waiting, Ms. Christine, but knowing it was for morning prayers eases the wound of disrespect.”

She lifted her head, keeping her eyes on the carved stone before her. 

“Forgive me, Minister Frollo,” she said smoothly. “I never miss my prayers.” It seemed silly to be so devoted to a god no one could prove existed, but it comforted her knowing that there was a possibility of someone watching over her. Someone who  _ cared _ . 

Suddenly, Frollo was kneeling beside her, his hands clasped in prayer, and he bowed his head. 

Christin took the opportunity to look at him properly. There weren’t any lines on his face, despite having snow white hair. His nose was large and aquiline, his mouth pursed yet firm. He seemed always displeased, but in that moment he looked peaceful. His brows naturally arched upwards and his high cheekbones fit his air of regality. His chaperone was off, and Christine noticed the dark hair towards the base of his neck. 

“Pray tell, what is so intriguing about my face, Ms. Christine?”

Heat rose to her cheeks. “Nothing,” she replied quickly, bowing her head and squeezing her eyes shut. She begged Mary to let herself vanish from there, mortified that she had been caught staring like a teenager. 

“Indeed,” she heard him reply. She scolded herself. She felt torn about her feelings for Frollo. His older self, the one in her time, was afraid of her and tried to kill her. She didn’t know how to feel about this younger Frollo. She found him intriguing, but was scared of what he could do to her. The constant jumps in time made it hard to capture this man for who he was. 

She heard Frollo stand up and she ended her prayers, standing beside him. 

“Follow me,” he said, not waiting for an answer before turning and heading toward the tower stairs. Christine fell in step with him. 

“Why did you want to see me?” He raised a brow at her and she quickly added: “Sir.” She mentally rolled her eyes. 

“I wanted to speak with you  about our arrangement for you to teach Quasimodo,” he replied. 

Christine knew nothing about teaching the child. But he didn’t know that. “Yes, Sir.”

“I would like for you to start teaching him the alphabet. He’s starting to say simple phrases, I believe it’s time he started learning how to read.”

Christine questioned how much time she skipped. Clearly she was here for that time, considering she and Frollo had supposedly interacted more. 

They reached the belltower and Christine fought the urge to cling to a support beam for fear of Frollo repeating his older self’s actions. 

A boy, no taller than Christine’s waist, happily making his way to the pair of them. His small hands were outstretched and Christine started to smile, but she noticed how he hobbled. His knees were turned inwards, his feet pigeon-toed. One of his eyes was heavily hooded over by a misshapen brow. He had a large hump in his back, but none of the ailments seemed to deter the young tot. 

Christine smiled brightly at the boy and bent down t o his level. 

“Why hello there,” she said softly. 

The boy waved. 

“Speak, Quasimodo,” Frollo ordered. 

The boy in question lowered his head and glanced at Christine shyly. “H-hello,” he stammered out. 

“Let’s get started,” Frollo stated firmly. 

\--------------------

Frollo snapped the book shut. 

_ What is that blasted woman thinking?! _ , he thought as he pinched his nose. He slumped in the chair he occupied in the library of the safe house. 

“It makes no sense sending Christine all over the place,” he mused aloud. The journal had appeared that morning, outlining Christine’s morning with his younger self and Quasimodo. 

“Enjoying the book?”

Frollo stood up swiftly, the book in his hand. The old woman was perched on the table in the back of the room, her black cloak covering her completely. . 

“ _ You _ again,” he said, distaste dripping from his lips. 

“Yes, me,” the woman snarked. “I see you’re keeping yourself entertained.”

“What do you want?” he asked, wanting her to get to the point. 

“I want nothing,” she replied. “I’m here to remind you to be on your guard. A familiar enemy will show their face. You will be faced with temptation. I suggest you start making preparations.”

“For what?” he asked.

“You will see.” She hopped off the table and reached her hand out for the book. Frollo handed it to her. “For now, enjoy the book. See your life from a different pair of eyes.”

She opened it and touched her hand to one of the pages. 

“It will no longer appear and disappear,” she explained, handing it back to him. “You will see what she sees, and live each moment with her through this book. It will update every morning.”

Frollo looked at the book in his hands. “Why have me read this? I know the story of my life. I know how it happened!”

“You don’t,” she said sternly. “ _ You  _  didn’t get to live knowing Christine.”

“Then- what?” Frollo stammered. 

“All will be explained.”

“Then tell me this,” Frollo said quickly. “Why send her forwards in time so much?”

“She doesn’t need to live your entire life with you,” the stranger answered. “She just needs to help you.”

“Help me what?”

The woman didn’t answer, instead she lifted a finger to her mouth and vanished in a flash, leaving Frollo to stand in the library in shock. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it took me forever to update this. Filler chapters are my least favorite to write, so I took forever on it. Keep your eyes peeled for a new chapter in a couple weeks.


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